The Long Weekend
by eleanorc
Summary: Robert and Cora had been trying to get Anthony to the country for years, Edith was at home getting back on her feet. It was just supposed to be three nights, and never anything more... Modern A/U in three parts, totally M rated.
1. The First Night

This was mean to be a one-shot, but as I started typing it up (from the entire Moleskein notebook I filled while lying in bed), I realized it was painfully long (like most of my stories) and would be better separated. As such, it will be published in three parts, and the others will be up within a day or two as soon as I can proofread them.

Also, this is my first fully M-rated fic. It's not PWP (I hope) but I felt the intimacy was necessary to the story. It's a modern AU, key word being _modern_, so you've been warned.

I've not forgotten about The Gentleman and the Adventurer, and will be returning to regular updates on that as soon as I've gotten this bit of fanfic therapy all up and completed. :)

Thank you, as always, for being such wonderful people and kind reviewers. I love our Andith community so much!

All my best,  
Eleanor

* * *

The happy news that her sisters were returning for a long weekend was immediately marred by the further knowledge that they were only part of a welcome committee in honor of one of Papa's old school friends. Edith Crawley, who had been hiding in the shadows at Downton all summer as if it were a convalescent home, was immediately put off by the idea.

To see Sybil, and even Mary, meant she would have someone to talk with besides her parents and the revolving parade of workers that made the great house function. But if Mama was hosting a true Cora Crawley weekend, there would be dinners at seven and dress codes and expectations. And these days Edith was feeling quite incapable of polite small talk and the exchanging of obligatory pleasantries.

"You need to see people," Cora said gently when Edith voiced the kinder version of her displeasure. "It's been months, baby. You know you can stay here as long as you want, but you also know it's not making you any happier."

And damn if that wasn't the most accurate and spot-on thing her mother could have said.

So, Edith Crawley found herself putting on a bit of makeup for the first time in months, and dressing in something other than leggings and boyfriend cardigans, and reluctantly descending the grand staircase of her parents' over-large castle of a home to greet her Papa's friend and her family.

It was Thursday night, and therefore declared a casual dinner by Cora, which Edith understood to mean nice jeans and a blouse and perhaps the effort of some earrings. Her mother, who was wearing a blue chiffon dress and black heels, looked only mildly horrified by Edith's attire.

For a 'small gathering' there was quite a lineup. Her parents, of course, along with Rosamund. Her sisters stood shoulder to shoulder, comparing notes about upcoming nuptials no doubt, while their respective men, Tom and Matthew, were searching for common ground in the world of athletics. Nine people altogether, herself and Papa's absent friend included. Edith had the sudden urge to feign illness.

"Edith," Aunt Rosamund said, noticing her for the first time as Edith reached the bottom step. "How are you, pet?" Edith had a certain fondness for her aunt, despite the woman's pernicious tendencies and ability to make things most awkward. Even still, she had little desire to talk about the very thing Ros was alluding to.

"Fine, Ros. How are you?"

Edith made eye contact with Sybil and waved as Rosamund chattered happily beside her. Looking around, Edith couldn't help but think this would be awkward. A gathering of adults waiting awkwardly in the main hall for a practical stranger to arrive was an archaic tradition, and the fact that said stranger was late didn't help. If she were this friend of Papa's she'd come in, take one look at all the faces, and think _My god, this must be a cult_.

But it was Mama's way, mostly because it was Granny's way before that and Cora Crawley spent the first twenty years of her marriage accommodating her mother-in-law. Edith decided, as she swatted her mother's fussing hands away from her hair, that she would never kowtow to her in-laws, and further that if the man was right for her she wouldn't have to.

The line of thinking stopped abruptly when she realized it assumed she would have in-laws, and then that bone-deep loneliness reared its head again, and she felt the familiar, cold reminder that she was single in the extreme.

"Try not to look so morose, Edith, you have a life ahead of you," Cora said, and Edith heard Mary's satisfied laugh at the comment.

When Papa's friend did, at last, arrive, he seemed only momentarily surprised by the Crawley lineup. The man was tall, and broad, and what his gait lacked in confidence it made up in elegance. His gestures and movements were smooth, natural, not at all the stiff, disjointed efforts Edith made when it came time to step up and take his hand.

"How do you do," he said, smiling down at her, and only then did Edith realize she'd tuned out her father's introductions. Freezing as she struggled to conjure his name from the half-dozen conversations about this weekend, the tall man looked at her with a nearly imperceptible change in his expression.

"Well, thank you," she finally said, as her mother stepped up and said, "This is our Edith."

_Our_ _Edith_, she thought with an internal cringe. It implied she was different, helpless, in need of coddling or special understanding. And it was difficult, so difficult, in those moments to remember all her parents had done for her the last couple months, and that they had only good intentions at heart.

The man nodded as if to say, _So what?_ and looked around for lack of anything better to do. The silence that followed was unbearable, but mercifully short.

"Anthony, pet, it's been so long," Rosamund said as the group instinctively moved for the dining room. Edith followed last, watching her Aunt take Anthony's arm between her well-manicured hands. Just when Edith thought things couldn't be much worse, she heard Ros say, "You know I'm single now, of course."

Dr. Anthony Strallan, as Edith now knew him, was placed between Rosamund and Mary and Edith couldn't help but feel for the man, who seemed quiet and reserved. After Ros, Papa was at the head of the table in all his Robert Crawley splendor, then Mama, Tom, and Sybil. Matthew had Mary on his left and Edith on his right, leaving her the awkward ninth at the empty end of the large table. This was just as well, being that Edith was in no mood to chat indolently about, well, anything.

"So you, Mary, are recently engaged?" Anthony asked, trying to sort out who was who.

Mary offered an airy, fake sort of laugh that set Edith on edge. "Oh, no. That's Sybil. We're not engaged yet," she said, and no one could miss the warning tone intended for Matthew.

"Tom and Sybil will be married next Spring," Cora explained, directing attention away from Matthew. Edith pushed some fingerling potatoes around her plate as Sybil shared some details about the wedding and Anthony made the expected replies.

"The curse of three daughters," Robert said jovially, taking a swig of his scotch. "Have to pay for the weddings. At least there will only be two."

When Edith's head snapped up to question her father, he sputtered, "That is to say, for now, because surely our Edith will find someone, right?" he laughed nervously as forks fell to plates and Cora muttered an _Oh, Robert_ under her breath. "Not, not that you need to, Edith, of course. Independent sort that you are. You've done very well, without, without… anyone."

Edith could feel the heat flood her cheeks and the blood drain from her limbs.

"Robert, you're putting a foot in it, and anyway, all this talk of weddings is rather dull for Dr. Strallan, I'm sure. Unless of course you're back on the market, Anthony," Ros said, that bold glint in her eye.

"I, oh, well that is to say," the man stammered as Sybil openly gaped at her Aunt and dear Tom shot Edith a look that begged for help or an escape route. As if Edith wasn't embarrassed enough for herself, she now felt the second-hand embarrassment on behalf of the poor 'guest of honor' who was apparently within Rosamund's crosshairs. "Certainly there's more to being a Lady than fretting about marriage. This isn't a Jane Austen novel. Right, Lady Edith?"

Edith was torn between appreciating his attempt at support and being utterly affronted by his comment. She leaned over her plate, looking past Matthew and Mary (who was clearly enjoying the whole thing), and looked Papa's friend Anthony in the eyes. "I assure you, I don't 'fret' about becoming the little wife," she said with a bit more malice and anger than originally intended.

Finally, as if sent by the merciful Ghost of Society Dinners Past, Mrs. Patmore's waitress Daisy came in, hired for the night to cook and cater. "Are we ready for pudding?" the girl asked, proudly smiling down at the lavish dessert and totally oblivious to any tension.

"Oh, please god yes," Sybil said, stacking hers and Tom's plates to be handed to the young man that followed to help clear and pass around the final course.

It wasn't until they retired to the billiards room for after-dinner drinks that Edith was able to make her escape.

Heading through the kitchen she saw Mrs. Patmore's staff cleaning up, preparing the things they would need for tomorrow. Edith wondered if Mrs. Patmore just waited for Mama's phone call, begging for help. The woman would show up at a moment's notice ready to do whatever Cora bid, and Edith was fairly certain Beryl's annual income came solely from Cora's need to impress.

Those thoughts kept her occupied long enough to skirt along the side of the house, the edge of the back patio, and down to the lower gardens. The land surrounding the great house was largely flat, but the garden was cut into the lawn, deliberately creating a sense of view from the highest point where there wasn't necessarily a vantage before.

In the lower gardens one could easily hide against the stone walls and lush greenery, especially when the summer months made everything fuller and overgrown, so as to avoid being seen by anyone in the house or on the terrace above. At

Sitting in the mossy grass that separated the stone path from the wall of the lowest terrace, Edith looked out over the sprawling darkness of unused land at night, and heaved a sigh. Then, allowing all the things she stifled during the day to bubble up, she let the sadness spread over her and the tears begin to fall. She usually tried to avoid self-pity where she could, but tonight, with nothing but a tedious weekend to look forward to and the recurring pain of the last several months at her heels, she opted to feel good and miserable.

"Do you need help?" came a man's voice, startling the breath from Edith's lungs. When he stepped closer, tall enough to catch some of the light from the house on his face, she felt a small surge of annoyance, and something else not completely unpleasant.

"No, I do not need help. I'm just out here 'fretting.' I didn't come to the darkest spot of the lower gardens for company. I'm sure everyone else is pouring highballs in the house if you're eager."

Anthony smiled thinly and nodded. "Of course. And everyone is, indeed, in the house. I was just going for a walk." There was an awkward silence, Edith feeling guilty for her rudeness and embarrassed for her crying, as Anthony stood, calm and unaffected, with his hands behind his back. He seemed to be observing her, and after a moment he said, "Well, this house is absurdly spacious. I can find another bit of land to tread."

He smiled kindly and turned to leave when Edith felt the overwhelming need to stop him. "Wait, I'm sorry. Please, please sit." He seemed undecided so she smiled as best she could and said, "I'm not nearly as mean as you probably think, I swear."

"I, uh, never thought you were," he stuttered, lowering himself to sit beside her. He settled against the wall, closer than she had expected, but he was at ease so she relaxed as well, slouching back again. "I'm sorry I offended you at dinner. I didn't mean to. I'm rubbish under pressure and Rosamund has taken delight in stumping me since we were your age."

"You didn't offend me," she said quickly, and he quirked his lips at her in disbelief. "I'm sorry I was short with you. It's nothing to do with you, I  
promise."

There was a silent exchange of apologies accepted, and small, shy smiles. Finally Anthony asked, "Why were you crying?"

Edith stiffened, visibly she was sure, and shook her head. "I won't bother you with my whining," she said dismissively.

"It's only whining when you've got nothing real to upset you and find something to complain about anyway. Those tears did not seem frivolous." When Edith looked up Anthony suddenly glanced out to the yard. "But, I won't push, I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"What do you know about me?" she asked, unsure what made her so curious.

"Well, your Rob's middle daughter. You read English at Oxford, for a time you were living in London, yes? And recently you've returned home to… do what? I'm hazy on that bit. And apparently you're just as fond of large dinners as I am."

After another lengthy silence, Edith said, "I've had nearly two bottles of wine to myself and not much food. It's bound to be a rambling, uncomfortably emotional diatribe."

"I've no immediate plans," he shrugged.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Only someone who's been treated poorly would ask that, which is a shame. I read English at Oxford as well, so I'm bound to find you interesting."

"No one finds me interesting."

"Well I'll do my best to fake it."

A night bird of some kind swooped by across the lawn, and in the distance frogs and crickets could be heard. It was a pleasant summer evening, ideal and picturesque. Edith heaved a sigh.

"After dinner I stumbled across Mary and Matthew going at it in the washroom and it put my off my meal. I think she might be evil, and while I'm well aware of my faults and my impending spinsterhood, she seems determined to see that I get there."

"Aren't you a little old to be crying in the garden about your mean sister?" he gibed softly, obviously trying to make her smile, but Edith just burst into tears.

"Yes, yes I am," she said quickly. "I'm also too old to be a perpetually single, utterly alone, directionless virgin, but what does that matter?"

Anthony's eyes went a fraction wider for a moment before he asked, "How old are you?"

"Old enough to be truly pathetic." At his narrow gaze Edith dropped her head and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm twenty-five."

To her surprise, and horror, Anthony laughed. "Twenty-five! You're practically a child. You have so much time!"

"I'm sure that's the thing to say, but it's not true. I, well I'm less than desirable and that's only going to get worse from here. And in this century to be completely inexperienced is just awful, like I'm broken and beyond repair. I've never been in a relationship, let alone been remotely physical with someone, and the older I get the more strange and awkward that becomes, and no one, _no one_, wants to tackle _that_. At twenty-five I'm expected to know certain things I don't, and it makes me unlovable."

Edith was sobbing again, having never admitted such a thing out loud in her life. She didn't even say those things to her diary, and here she was confessing her inner-most doubts to a practical stranger.

"You're far from unlovable," he said softly. "And despite what you think, it's never too late. I was about your age when I met my wife."

At the mention of his wife, Edith went a bit cold, though she couldn't say why. "Your wife? Where is she now?"

"She died. About five years ago."

"I'm sorry," Edith said, sniffling. "Was she a virgin when you met?"

"Oh god no," Anthony scoffed, wounding Edith a bit. He looked apologetic and serious. "But I truly wish she had been. It would have been…nice. Sweet."

Edith rolled her eyes, trying to save the last bit of her dignity. "Well, I'm utterly without hope for a future, and painfully aware of the fact like the rest of my family, so I'm out here moping. What's your excuse? Aren't you the guest of honor?"

Anthony chuckled and picked at some weeds between them. "I don't know about honorable guest, but I get a bit…flustered in gatherings like this. I'm terrible at small talk and completely dysfunctional socially. And between us friends, I find your Aunt Rosamund insufferable. Always have."

Edith laughed, truly laughed, and it felt like flexing a long-forgotten muscle. "I don't believe you're in the minority." When Anthony smiled at her, Edith wondered why she hadn't noticed before how striking his features were. He had a well-defined jaw, a proud nose, thin, handsome lips, straight teeth, and piercing blue eyes, all of which were enhanced by the low blue moonlight. "If you hate these things so much, why did you agree to come?"

"Well, I've known your parents a long time and they've been trying to get me out here for years. Cora, bless her, got it in her head that I needed to visit before the next semester and wouldn't take no for an answer. Now I find myself committed to three nights, the last of which, I've just been informed, will include a raucous party."

"Poor dear," Edith said, sniffing the last of her tears and running a hand through the hair at his neck. She froze immediately, quite unaware of where the gesture came from, and snapped her hand back to her lap like she'd been burnt. "So," she began, her voice too bright, trying to get past the unthinkable moment. "You live in London?"

"Mm-hmm," he nodded, and Edith wondered if he wasn't trying to sound cooler than he felt in that moment.

"I do as well. I've the most appallingly small flat in a terrible part of town with two gay flatmates who are forever stealing my moisturizer. I love it."

"Sounds much more pleasant than my empty, tidy place on the Park. I really do hate it sometimes, but the city serves as a nice distraction."

"From what?"

"From everything," he said and his voice was undeniably sad.

Hoping to make him flash that smile again, Edith said, "Well look out because I do believe Auntie Ros has her eyes on it, and I'm certain she's already picking out fabrics in her head."

Anthony laughed, filling Edith with a small sense of accomplishment. "I'm afraid she may be disappointed."

"And utterly shocked that you could possibly be anything but enamored, I'm sure."

Another pause. Edith noticed her shoulder had come to rest against his, a completely innocuous touch, but the first she'd had in a long time. "Do you want to know why I get so upset with Mary and Matthew?"

"I do."

"Because I knew him first. I mean, he's some sort of third cousin, twice removed or something, but we met at school and I brought him home to meet the family."

"Did you like him?"

"Not particularly. I," she hesitated, blushing, "Well I thought he was, that he would be the one to… I was willing, and I thought a weekend trip would be the perfect opportunity to…" She couldn't believe that as a grown woman she couldn't even say the words. Pressing on, because she was committed now, Edith said, "Well anyway, one look at Mary and he was done for. I became his frumpy little sister and Mary his goddess. Silly really."

"You brought home a sure thing and he went directly to Mary? And from what I can tell she doesn't even treat him that well. No wonder you're not crazy about her."

The relief Edith felt at his understanding was so immediate and immense it surprised her. "It's not me, Anthony. I mean that wasn't me at all. Trying to be seductive and alluring, it's not who I am. I don't do flirtatious and seductive. I can't. And I didn't like Matthew anyway. I mean I adore the boy, but I was never really attracted to him. Only certain…parts."

Anthony laughed again.

"I don't know if I'm more upset that he never wanted me, or that I'm the oldest living virgin in the whole of London, or that deep down I never would have gone through with it anyway because I didn't really want him either."

"Want my opinion?" Anthony asked, utterly unfazed by her strange and personal rambling. Before he continued he reached down and took her hand, a gesture meant only to be warm and friendly, Edith was sure. "I think that your desire to be wanted is wholly understandable, but that your self-worth is high, and deservedly so, and outweighs that desire, preventing your from throwing that part of yourself away on someone who can't appreciate you just because you feel a sort of expiration date has been placed on you by society."

Edith blinked several times and after a while said quietly, "I've never had someone sum me up so quickly, or so accurately. Including my family."

Anthony ran his thumb along her palm in a soothing motion. "It seems terribly unjust, Edith, that you feel so alone and misunderstood."

"I'm sorry too," she said, "That you're alone and that you feel like you have to distract yourself from the tedium of daily life."

"Well, let's wallow together for a bit then, hmm?"

They sat in silence for a while, hands still clasped between them, shoulders touching, until Edith broke the quiet. "I've never had this much contact with another person before," she admitted, feeling as though she were confessing something terrible.

"Truly?"

"Oh, when I was a child, sure, but not as an adult, and certainly not with someone outside my family." Tentatively, Edith pulled their hands into her lap and shifted to lay her head against his arm. She hadn't realized how tense the action had made her until he rested his head against hers and her shoulders relaxed.

"Do you have any idea at all what it's like?" she whispered, closing her eyes and inhaling the smell of laundry and shaving soap from his sweater. "To be completely deprived of contact and affection?"

"Yes," Anthony muttered. "Yes, I do."

"I wish I had self-worth, as you said. I like to think I have dignity and self-respect if nothing else. But sometimes I'm so lonely my whole body aches with it and I think I'll die without ever knowing a single person who will want me."

She could feel tears welling again, and was vaguely aware she should be mortified to confess such things to a man she barely knew, but she couldn't bring herself to feel shame.

"When Maude, my wife, when she died I thought part of me had died too. And maybe it had, some version of who I used to be. I tried to be someone I wasn't after, numb myself with meaningless flings with women I didn't care a modicum for. It always made me feel worse about myself, though. Disgusted, even."

Anthony looked down as Edith looked up, their faces close together, and he gave her hand another squeeze.

"I know what it is to be lonely, Edith, but there's nothing lonelier than losing your self respect."

"You might be the single wisest human being I have ever met," Edith said frankly. Anthony laughed at her, and she frowned in displeasure.

"I'm an old, daft fool, I promise you that, too afraid to face even a small party of people I've known most of my life."

"You're not a fool, and you're not afraid. You're just no good at pretending, or being less than you are. There's nothing wrong with that. And some of the people in that house can be vicious pit vipers anyway. And it'll only get worse come Saturday night."

Anthony chuckled again. "I think you're over-generous with me, but thank you anyway."

"Anthony Strallan," Edith repeated to herself more than him. After a while she said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being kind to me. For taking a moment to talk to me. That doesn't happen very often."

Anthony shifted so that he was sitting up and away from the wall, facing Edith as she leant against it. "Edith, you are beautiful, and quite charming, and very bright. I can't understand why you think yourself anything less than remarkable, but if Matthew and any other young men can't see it, it's their loss. Someone would have to be blind, deaf, and mute to let you slip through his fingers, Sweetheart. Don't let anyone else convince you otherwise, because you deserve better."

"Oh, god," Edith groaned, crying again.

"Please don't cry," he pleaded, brushing tears from her cheekbones with his thumb.

"No one's ever said so many nice things to me," she blubbered. "I feel ridiculous, reacting this way. I'm sorry. It's just been such a terrible couple of months, and I'm not really myself."

"I meant every word," Anthony said.

Their eyes met again, and Edith suddenly understood the lightning metaphor people always used to discuss chemistry. Before she could consider or second-guess, she leaned up and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. The voice that screamed _Yes_ drowned out the one that told her to be embarrassed. When she opened her eyes, Anthony looked neither disgusted nor terribly insulted.

"And now," Anthony said, getting to his feet, "to prove it, I'm going to go."

"What?" Edith half-shrieked, following after, "You can't go, not now."

"Edith, Sweet," he said calmly, "I've had my weight in scotch and you said yourself you've had a fair amount of wine. I think you're marvelous, and I'm glad we both hid in the garden, but anything beyond bidding you goodnight right now I don't really trust myself with. We're both lonely, and drunk, and I can't stop myself from wanting to taste your skin, and that's a dangerous combination."

Edith was staggered. "You, you _want_ me?" she gasped, turning beet red despite herself.

"You're surprised?" he returned, equally incredulous.

"No one ever wants me, especially with my sisters around."

"Either you're mistaken or the world is littered with fools," Anthony said, his tone direct and factual.

They watched one another for a while, as though trying to choose, or wait for the other to make a definitive move, but deep down Edith knew it was a decision already made.

"Will you," she began, faltered, then tried again. "Will you stay? With me?"

"You'd never know if I was simply pressing my advantage and I'd never know if I was just the first bloke you came across."

"I think we both know better, but if not, so what?" she reasoned. "We have the weekend Anthony. That's all, just this one weekend. Even if we're both miserable on Monday, we may as well enjoy what we can while we can, don't you think?"

Anthony looked at her sideways. "I'm very, _very_ tempted Edith," he admitted in a pained whisper, "but it's wrong on many levels and I don't want to be another disappointment in your life."

"I know you're a gentleman and you'll treat me as such. I know too that I'm not…not ideal, and that I'm probably not your…idyllic…"

"Stop it," he said gently, "You're alarmingly beautiful, Edith. It's not…" Then, with something akin to a grown he said, "Are you really sure? Are you sure you want to lose that part of yourself on me?"

"It's perfect, and fortuitous, I'd say, that you're here. Anthony, it's fate," Edith declared with a smile.

"Fate?" he laughed skeptically.

"The two loneliest souls in London found each other in a garden in Yorkshire, with a long weekend stretched before them. Yes, Anthony, I think it's fate."

"You make a compelling argument, Lady Edith," he murmured, "But I won't be the thing you regret most in life."

"Then don't make me beg," she shrugged. Anthony seemed truly conflicted. They were standing now, close together, and he was half-bent over her, frowning. "Have you ever done a morally questionable thing in your life?" she teased.

"Many times. Just not with someone as beautiful and sweet and full of life as you. You're a wonder, Edith. You shouldn't want me."

Edith took a deep breath and stepped closer, closing the gap between them. "I'm giving myself to you, Anthony. Please, just accept it, please?"

"You promise you won't regret this in the morning?" He was whispering, as if anyone could here them all the way down in the lower gardens.

"I promise, I would never regret you."

"But we're practically strangers," he said, his voice strained as he seemed to grasp at the last straws of his reason.

"Then let's get to know each other," she smiled, though her voice trembled.

Edith couldn't be sure what did it. Even later, years later, she'd revisit the conversation and sift through the details and try to find the answer, but she would never know exactly what convinced him. She saw the moment he last the battle with his conscience, though. In an instant she was gathered in his arms, enveloped in the warm strength of him.

"This isn't why I came out here," he assured her.

"I know," she said, "But I'm so glad that you did."

With that, Anthony leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, and chaste. Edith quite melted against him as he took his time, tasting her top and bottom lips in turn. His great hands moved to cradle her jaw as he coaxed her mouth open. He teased his tongue inside with gentlemanly reverence, as if expecting her to reject him at any moment. All of his movements were sure, but designed to be easily thwarted should she choose to.

Instead, Edith's hands moved from his chest to his shoulders as his arms moved to her waist. He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing so he wouldn't have to bend as their kisses grew deeper and more urgent.

After several long, blissful moments, he broke aware from her swollen lips, resting his forehead to hers. "Are you still sure you want this?" he asked softly, "Still sure you want me?"

"More than ever," she nodded. Hanging from his neck as she was, it was hard to press much closer, but Edith managed it.

"I don't know what good I've done to deserve you," he muttered dryly, setting her back on her own unsteady feet.

"You and me both," she murmured, reaching up to kiss him again.

"Edith," he said, stopping her. Edith's blood ran cold, certain she couldn't take another rejection, another dismissal. She knew too that should Anthony let her down it would be a particularly painful blow. Her hands began to shake.

"I can't, I won't, do this in the garden, Sweetheart. Do you want to go to your room, or mine?"

Edith laughed in extreme relief. "Let's go to yours. No one will bother you because you're a guest. Mary and Mama are apt to burst into my room at any given moment with requests."

"Mine it is, then," he agreed, kissing her just below the ear. "Do you know which it is?"

"Give me a color."

"Everything in it is navy."

"Yes, I know which room. Met you there in ten?"

"The others really won't notice you're gone?"

"I've been in the garden for the past hour. Besides, it's only eleven. They have at least another two hours of drinking and card games ahead of them. They're used to me going to bed early."

"How could anyone not regret your absence?" he wondered aloud, running a hand across her cheek.

"Anthony, you're the exception to many rules, and you're about to add one to the list," she smiled.

"Lucky me," he muttered against her lips, kissing her once more before turning her around and pushing her away down the path. "Ten minutes, then, Sweet."

* * *

Edith made her way through the great hall, making sure her mother saw her pluck a book from the library before yawning and walking slowly up the stairs. "If only a book could offer her marriage and security," she heard her Aunt Ros quip. Any other day and the joke might have stung, but tonight Edith was going to learn what it meant to be wanted and desired.

The few attempts Edith had made with other young men failed, and Edith knew it was because her heart had never truly been in it, not really. Matthew, for example, she hadn't even found attractive, except that he was male and single. But Anthony, oh Anthony was so handsome it made her knees go gummy and he was interested in _her_, yes, but he was also smart and kind and gentle.

Suddenly, as she made her way to her room to change, Edith was immensely glad she'd never been with anyone else.

Edith made quick work of brushing her teeth and combing her short, bobbed hair. She regretted for a minute that she wasn't wearing more makeup, but figured it'd be silly to put some on now. Pulling on her most alluring sleepwear, which was still just a satin camisole and matching shorts, she examined herself in the mirror. Fair skin, dark eyes, Ros' red hair—she didn't dwell much on her appearance because there was little she could do now to change it.

Instead, she took a moment to evaluate the situation. She had been eager to lose her virginity, in a way, feeling that society cast her as the prude or spinster otherwise. She always knew that she couldn't just 'get it over with' though. It would have to be with someone she could respect.

"Is this really what you want?" she asked her reflection, noting her gooseflesh and trembling hands. But then the image of Anthony came to her—his sincerity and disbelief, the kind words he'd spoken to her, and the way his lips had felt against hers.

Even if she was guaranteed this wasn't her last chance, which she very much felt it was, Edith was certain she wanted this man, this Anthony Strallan, to be the one. He would be patient, take care of her. He was the first man she'd ever trusted to do as much, and she refused to risk that he might be the last.

Decision made (again), Edith pulled her cotton robe on and discreetly made her way to the navy guestroom.

When Edith was fourteen, and hopelessly infatuated with her cousin Patrick, he and Mary and Larry Gray tricked her. Thinking that Patrick would meet her, Edith waited in the red guestroom for hours, all giddy anticipation for a promiscuous rendezvous. It was only when she heard cars leaving and looked at the window that she realized he'd gone. When she returned downstairs, Larry and Mary were in a fit of laughter, and Edith had been crushed.

For the briefest moment, Edith wondered if this was much the same. Perhaps Anthony, unable to shake her in the garden, had given her the wrong room. For half a second the same shattering disappointment and humiliation rushed over her, until the door opened and Anthony's warm, sweet face appeared in the crack.

"I have to ask you," he said quietly, his tone grave, "For my own conscience—is this really what you want?"

Edith smiled. "I just asked myself that very thing not three minutes ago."

"And what was your reply?" he asked, though he'd caught her grin.

"Absolutely and without doubt."

"Good," he chirped, pulling her into his room by her wrist and shutting the door behind her.

The minute Edith looked around she was sure she'd made the right decision. Anthony had scrounged together a few candles and a bottle of white was chilling in a bucket on the window seat. His iPod was playing soft classical music, and a fire had been lit in the hearth.

"I smuggled some wine from the caterers if you wanted, just in case." He stammered slightly, but the hand he placed on Edith's back was firm and warm and steady.

"Thank you, for all of this," she managed, "It's lovely."

"I hope you don't find me an old-fashioned bore. I just, well I am terribly fond of you. I wanted it to be nice. And I didn't want you to regret too much come morning. Or Monday. Or whatever."

With that Edith turned to face him. They had made their way to the center of the room. Edith's bare feet registering the soft, plush rug beneath them. Anthony was barefoot too, she noticed, and wearing just his trousers and button-down, sans tie and sweater. As Edith took him in, Anthony's hands traveled to her elbows and waited for her cue.

"Edith," he said softly. "If at any point you change your mind, don't be afraid to…"

"I'm not afraid," she interrupted, stepping into him.

"I just mean… Well I don't make a habit of…" the poor man tried, and Edith brushed her fingertips over his lips to shush him.

"I can't say why, specifically, but this feels right," she whispered, worried she might come across too needy and scare him away. "If you really want me, Anthony, then please have me."

"I do want you." His voice was hoarse, as though he were confessing some long-hidden sin. "I want you like I haven't wanted someone in a very, very long time."

"Really?" she asked, finally tearing her gaze from his shirt to his eyes, which were earnest and stormy and striking.

"Really," he assured. Then, with a grin that made a marked change from shy to seductive, he said, "And against my better judgment, I'm going to kiss you senseless right now."

Before Edith could comment, his mouth was on hers, moving slowly but with confidence. She opened for him immediately, eager to feel the smooth muscle of his tongue against hers.

Edith's arms found their way around his neck as Anthony's hands roamed her back and shoulders. When his right hand slipped beneath her camisole to the bare skin of her back Edith gasped, renewing the vigor of their kiss and bowing into his body.

Purely out of a wish to know how it tasted, Edith ran the tip of her tongue inside Anthony's upper lip. To her immense satisfaction and surprise, the action elicited a guttural groan from the man. The sound went straight to the core of her, stoking the fire that had been growing since he first took her hand in the entryway.

"Good lord you feel nice," she breathed, nearly overwhelmed by his hair through her fingers and his muscles beneath her arms and the body heat rolling off of him. How she could have ever considered doing this with someone else was a complete mystery to her by that point. There was only Anthony. Her only fear, lingering at the back of her mind, was that she would like him too much, that she was in over her head, and there would be no recovering. There would _only_ ever be Anthony for her, and what would she do come Monday?

* * *

Anthony, for his part, as still trying to come to grips with the fact that the single most beautiful woman he'd ever spoken to was there, in his arms, letting him explore every bit of her perfect, perfect mouth.

Edith Crawley was special—a treasure, or a gift, or a goddess. She was, at the very least, far more than the unwanted spinster she'd described herself as, and she certainly deserved far better than an aging, dull, widower with a bland teaching career and nothing but of life of books and papers and old age ahead of him. Anthony pulled back to tell her as much, but Edith—flushed cheeks and fiery eyes—was already pulling him to the bed.

"I almost didn't come this weekend," Anthony mused, stretching out beside Edith on the thick navy duvet.

"Why?" she wondered, pulling his shirt tails from his trousers and taking her time with the buttons.

"Lots of reasons. I don't do well at parties, I haven't seen your father or anyone due Saturday since before Maude died, and she used to do all the talking."

He paused then to kiss Edith's bare shoulder as she pushed his shirt off and down his arms. For the life of him he couldn't reconcile what was happening, how on earth he found this striking young woman in his bed.

"You said lots of reasons," she prompted, and he was oddly touched that she was still interested in conversation on some level.

"I'm shy, but knowing your mother I figured the chances of her trying to set me up with someone were pretty good. I didn't relish the thought of fighting off some random woman. Or, as I'm beginning to realize, your dearly tenacious Aunt Rosamund."

Edith laughed at that, pulling his face down to her for a sweet kiss. "And are you trying to fight me off, Dr. Strallan? Because you're terrible at it."

He felt the breath of her laughter brush against his neck as she nuzzled against him, her hands stroking the hair at his nape in a way he found equally soothing and erogenous. "Oh no, Sweet, you are quit the revelation. Very unexpected, and even though I probably should, I have no intention of letting you go."

"For the next several days at least," she amended, and the inexplicable sadness he felt at that bit of reality surprised the hell out of him.

"Indeed," he muttered, allowing the bow of her collarbone to distract him. Edith Crawley was perfection. Her skin tasted like butter, save hints of lavender from her soap, presumably. Her hair was soft, her body round and firm. All of that womanly beauty was undermined slightly by her trembling and fumbling.

He had to take it slowly, let her adjust, and the arrogant part of Anthony was glad he would be the one to show her this, if only to guarantee it wouldn't be traumatic for her. He was rationalizing, he knew. It was so out of the norm for him to take a young woman, a daughter of a friend no less, throwing caution to the wind. But there was something about her, or his own sorry life, that made him need her too fiercely to turn away.

"Where'd you go?" she hummed, resting back against the pillows.

"I just," he sighed, kneeling so he could take her in. He ran his hands over her hips and shook his head.

"Stop trying to feel guilty about this," she commanded gently. He looked down to hide his blushing, unused as he was to anyone seeing through him as she just had. "Oh please, you're not so very mysterious," she laughed, running a hand over his forearm. "Now if you're all done wrestling with yourself, I'd rather like to get your trousers off of you."

"You're remarkable, you know that?" Anthony asked, pulling his undershirt over his head as Edith went to task on his belt.

"You don't need to flatter me, Dr. Strallan," she muttered, and the fact that she really didn't believe him was almost infuriating.

Anthony opened his mouth to say as much, but Edith stopped him. "No more, Anthony. We've come all this way, let's enjoy it, hmm?"

Anthony braced his weight on his hands on either side of her, trousers and belt agape and hanging from his waist. "Just once more and I promise I won't ask again. Edith, are you sure?"

She sighed and smiled like a patient, sympathetic mother at a child. Instead of answering again, Edith pushed him onto his side, and Anthony thought she might have finally seen reason. Only instead of leaving, she took his hand.

"Anthony," she cooed softly, rolling to face him. Edith kissed his knuckles before guiding his hand tremulously to her silk shorts. She was nervous, he could see in her eyes, but determined. Despite the intense blush that she had bloomed from head to sternum, Edith looked him in the eye as she led his fingers beneath the thin fabric to the wet, warm center of her. And it was _wet_, so much so that Anthony couldn't help but be a little flattered.

Edith released his hand, allowing him to explore or escape as he deemed fit, and returned her grasp to his neck. "Still wondering if I want this? Or are you convinced?" she asked, her tone deceptively business-like.

Anthony ran a finger through her folds, seeking the first sign that he had her attention. When he elicited a gasp from her perfect mouth, he smiled. "I'm convinced," he ceded, continuing his ministrations in a lazy fashion as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Each moan, each shaky laugh and bit lip and crooked smile, spurred Anthony further. They were so close together that he could barely move, but he wouldn't have put space between them now for anything.

"Never," she panted suddenly, his lips twitching as one finger found her entrance, and then another, his thumb still dutifully working the bundle of nerves. "I've never, oooh, been this… this," she struggled.

"Tell me, Sweet," he whispered, unsure where the sudden need to hear her every thought came from.

"I've never been so wet before, or so… ah! so, so…" She was tensing, her hips now rocking in rhythm with his hand.

"So what, Darling?" What do you need?"

And with that she came on his hand, her arms snatching around his shoulders, lips on his in a searing kiss, short though it was.

"You, Anthony. I need you, I want you," she said, "And I think I always have done."

The analytical part of Anthony's mind wanted to pause and analyze that last bit, but unfortunately the majority of his blood, boiling as it was, had traveled further south. Suddenly, Edith was wearing far too much clothing. His hand left her shorts, moving down to her knee and back up, running a finger along the band of her knickers before moving flat against her tummy to push her camisole up.

Anthony felt Edith tense beneath him, felt her stomach muscles clench under his hand, and then she was pulling her top back down with both hands.

"I want to see you," Anthony murmured, stroking her stomach to try and coax her hands away.

"It's just, I have scars," Edith said, sighing. She looked upset with herself as she covered her forehead with a hand, her body going somewhat limp beneath him.

Anthony frowned, pressing his lips together as he looked back to her stomach. He put his weight on his elbows at either side of her hips, his hands slowly rolling up her camisole to just under her breasts. His fingers traced patterns on her sides, soothing her as his eyes found the small pink, puckered incision marks.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You won't want to hear, not now," she tried, but he just waited intently. Chewing a lip and staring at the bedside lamp, she said, "Emergency surgery. They, uh, well they took an ovary and removed some cysts. It was in May, that's why I came home for a while, to get better."

"Here?" he asked, directing his attention back to the small scars, feathering touches over them.

Edith nodded, their positioning and the topic feeling strangely intimate, but not uncomfortable. "Four incisions," she said, pointing to the three scars spread like Orion's Belt across her abdomen.

Anthony mumbled apologies, feeling truly worried and sad for the woman and cursing anything that caused her pain. He slowly kissed each one before frowning again. "Where's the fourth?"

"Bellybutton," Edith croaked, a trembling hand reaching to run through his hair.

"You're alright, yes? Healed?" Anthony asked, turning his head to kiss the inside of her palm.

"All healed," Edith said, though he knew she meant only from the surgery and not the emotional implications of such a thing. There was something in her expression that told him much of the damage had no hope of healing.

"Good," he said brightly, looking back to her. He wanted to get them both undressed, to fumble past this hurdle, and the next, and the next, until he was inside her.

_Be slow_, he reminded himself. _Be slow, and easy, and talk to her_. Kneeling up, Anthony helped Edith remove her knickers, sliding them down her perfect, smooth legs and flicking them aside, muttering nonsensical truths about her beauty all the while. When they pulled her camisole over her head together, Anthony grew legitimately worried he may suffer cardiac arrest right there.

"Anthony?" came her lovely voice through the thrumming of his own pulse. When he didn't answer immediately she folded her arms across her chest. "Anthony, you've stopped breathing."

Anthony guided her hands away and smiled, lecherous old beast that he was. "You have utterly perfect breasts, Edith. Shame you have to wear clothes at all."

To his delight, Edith flushed a brilliant pink from her face down. It raveled past her collarbone and Anthony just couldn't help himself. He leant down and tasted her long, elegant neck, and then her shoulder, her clavicle, the skin of her sternum, and finally her round, pert breasts.

"You're mad," Edith grumbled, her embarrassment and her self-doubt coming so naturally, even with Anthony face-deep in her bosom.

He looked up, hoping she would see the truth and conviction in his eyes. "Edith you are _perfection_, honestly, every inch of you, and if I go mad from it then c'est la vie."

She rolled her eyes at him, still not believing, and he felt a trickle of panic at the idea he may never convince her. "Look," he said, deciding it was a conversation best saved for another time, "You're perfect and in this matter I'm the presiding expert between the two of us, yes?"

She nodded weakly, grinning.

"Glad we're agreed, now where was I?" he said in his most academic air, kissing back down her stomach and earning a giggle when he tongued her bellybutton.

When his kisses reached the top of her curls, Edith closed her knees together, and when he murmured how heavenly she smelled, she shrieked, "Anthony!"

He had never enjoyed that particular act before, but with Edith he longed to taste her so desperately his whole body ached for it. _Another time, perhaps_, he thought, not willing to push her. Not tonight, it being her first time. She'd already given him so much, he wouldn't demand more than what she wanted.

Anthony kissed each of her knees in a consolatory gesture.

"Now, Anthony, please. Please," she whispered, and he knew that whatever lay before him in the remainder of his existence, he would be this woman's slave, give her anything she asked come hell or high water.

He took his time, removing his trousers and boxers, giving her a chance to deny him and make her leave. Instead she watched him intently, without a hint of embarrassment, hands resting on her stomach in a most relaxed posture.

Anthony tried not to be self-conscious, but couldn't help himself. "I'm not a young man, I realize," he whispered, hoping she saw that his body was still lean, at least, and his muscles still reasonably strong.

"You're beautiful," she purred.

"Now who's mad?" he laughed, climbing back onto the bed and leaning down to kiss her, effectively moving between her legs.

Their kisses then were languid, sweet. Anthony cradled her head in his hands, her shoulders resting on his forearms, taking a moment to relax them both, and to savor the feeling of skin against skin. He wanted to thank her, or bless her, or ask again if she was certain, but when Anthony looked down into her eyes, his worrying mind and his niggling doubts all went quiet.

Something profound and wordless passed between them then.

Another kiss, a nod.

Anthony took a deep breath, his right hand clasping one of Edith's while his left positioned him at her entrance before reaching for her other hand. Their fingers laced, eyes locked, he finally moved.

It wasn't a completely smooth motion as he pushed inside her, paused, waited for her to adjust to the intrusion. He could see it in her face, discomfort and even perhaps pain, and he wished it didn't have to be so.

"Relax, Sweetheart, breathe," he urged her, wanting her to feel safe and comfortable. She nodded, and after a few moments, lifted her hips to sheathe him completely.

Anthony had to recite Shelley's _Mont Blanc_ in his head to keep from disgracing himself right then, so unexpected was her forwardness. Edith was tight, and hot, and felt like heaven on earth. Being inside her, Anthony realized with some alarm, felt like finding home.

Pushing the thought aside, he focused on Edith, whose eyes were still boldly locked with his. He felt with some combination of fear and elation that she could probably read his every thought.

Coming to his senses, as much as was possible at the moment, Anthony pulled out a little before slowly moving back in. "Alright?" he asked.

She nodded, lifting her hips to meet his slow, steady thrusts. They found a rhythm, Anthony reminding himself that the agonizing pace was for Edith, and he outright refused to alarm or hurt her.

"Oh, Anthony," she moaned, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. The new angle left them both muttering little fits of pleasure, and when Edith pressed her ankles into his backside to pull him in, Anthony had to return to Shelley.

"Edith," he practically whined, a sound that would have shamed him under any other circumstances.

"Anthony, yes," she cooed, releasing his hands so she could pull herself tightly against his chest.

Anthony knew he couldn't possibly last much longer in that position, entirely surrounded by Edith as he was, her breasts brushing against him with each rocking motion. Reaching between them, he worked her center as best he could until he felt that rare fluttering of her inner-walls around him.

"Oh, Anth-!" she yelped, sucking his earlobe into her mouth and biting with just a bit of force.

That did it. One, two, three more thrusts and he was spilling himself inside her—little bursts that seemed to last forever as she continued to pulse around him, drawing it out for both of them through five, six, seven more thrusts that grew weaker each time. They collapsed back against the pillows, Edith still holding desperately to his shoulders. He was afraid his weight on her might be too much but he wouldn't have been able to pull away from her if he tried.

Several minutes of grateful, languorous kisses, and Anthony finally pulled out of her with no small amount of regret and loss.

"Are you alright?" he managed, dropping to the bed beside her, trying not to let her see how labored his breathing was.

"Yes," was all she said quietly, rolling to her stomach with her hands beneath her shoulders. Anthony felt a cold fear pierce through him as he arranged the crumpled top sheet over the both of them. He knew it was only a matter of time before she grew to regret this, but he had hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

Anthony couldn't explain the ache in his heart as he laid there, trying to sort his scrambled thoughts. Then it hit him, a sharp and sure blow to his chest—they hadn't been screwing around, they'd been making love. And worse, he wanted to do it again.

Risking a glance over at her, Anthony found she was watching him. "You sure you're alright?" he asked, her expression unreadable.

To his immense relief, a smile grew on her gorgeous face and she extended the hand closest to him to rest on his chest. "I'm far better than 'alright,' Anthony," she assured, moving to kiss and nuzzle his shoulder before laying her head next to his on the same pillow.

Anthony's body begged his for sleep, but his mind (and admittedly his heart) refused to waste a moment with Edith beside him.

"That was… incredible," she murmured."

"You've nothing to compare. It could have been total rubbish and you'd have no idea."

She didn't laugh, or take the bait. Her eyes were huge and deep and watery. "It was special. I may be inexperienced, but I'm not naive and I didn't grow up under a rock."

Sighing in concession, Anthony ran a hand over the arm that rested on his chest, drawing patterns on her milky skin. "You are incredible," he granted, his mind absently enjoying her proximity as it wandered through the complexities of what had just passed between them, knowing only that he had unwittingly gotten himself into something he wouldn't soon recover from.

* * *

Edith's whole body was exhausted, but it was a wonderful, strange kind of exhaustion. She and Anthony had been laying in sated silence for some time, his fingers on her arm, hers in his chest hair. She could tell, watching his face as she was, that he was thinking—well, over-thinking. How she knew after roughly eight hours' acquaintance what he was thinking she couldn't say, but then she wondered if perhaps this whole thing wasn't a big lesson in accepting the seemingly impossible.

Hoping to break the worry that was clouding his eyes by the minute, she lifted her head suddenly, capturing his attention. "How do I look?" she asked with her best flirtatious grin, "Different?"

"Mmm, thoroughly debauched," he said with a cheeky smile, reaching up to flatten her wild curls affectionately. She blushed and leaned in for a quick kiss, squirming a little to get closer to him. But when she pulled back he still looked too serious for her liking.

"I hate asking such a banal question," she prefaced, scrunching her nose. "But what are you thinking?" Wary of being the annoying, needy post-coital woman, she immediately said, "Sorry, you don't need to say. I'm sorry."

Anthony frowned softly as she laid her head back down, hiding a bit against his shoulder. "Why would you apologize?" he asked, rubbing her cheek affectionately. Edith shrugged, but Anthony didn't answer her question either.

After a few minutes he said, "I, uh, I didn't even think to… to use," and Edith, who never used to be tolerant of indecision in speech, found it quite endearing.

"Anthony, it's alright," she sighed.

"Protection," he finally blurted, and Edith would have laughed if it weren't for the painful knowledge she knew she'd have to share.

She smiled, a sad, rueful sort of thing. "I can't, um, get pregnant, Anthony." She cursed the way her eyes watered at the acknowledgement. No matter how many times she said it aloud, no matter how many months she'd known, it still hurt. "Just one more way I'm damaged goods," she said with a self-loathing little laugh.

To her immense surprise, Anthony pulled her tightly against him and kissed her hair. "You're not damaged," he said definitively. Then, kissing her again, he muttered, "I'm sorry Sweetheart. Did you want kids?"

"Yeah," she mused, "Not until I was told I never would, of course." She laughed again to hide her sadness and relaxed further into his hold, breathing in the scent of his skin.

"My wife lost a baby," he said, his tone conversational. "I told her it would be alright, that there was plenty of time."

"Oh?" she mumbled against his chest.

"I lied. I mean, I had no right to be so calm about it, because of course there wasn't time. She died within the year."

"How?"

"Stroke. Made possible by the hormones she was taking to try and conceive."

"I'm sorry, Anthony."

"So am I. I think that if my heart had really been in it I would have gotten her pregnant. As it was, I wasn't sure she was really ready so I made it all her endeavor, put it all on her."

Edith knew words wouldn't comfort him, so she just reached for his free hand and laced their fingers together.

"It wasn't until she died that I knew I wanted children."

"You were ready then?"

"I was always ready. It was Maude I doubted. She was fragile, fell apart easily, had a temper."

"And now?"

"Now I know I missed my chance, and that's that."

They sulked in a mutual silence for a bit before Edith shook her head. "No more," she demanded. "I've never had a conversation with another person while we're both stark naked, but I'm fairly certain it's not supposed to be depressing."

Anthony surprised her with his strength, suddenly pulling her on top of him and sitting them both up in one motion. He was leaning against the headboard with Edith sitting on his thighs while her legs wrapped around him.

She smiled, beamed really, without actually meaning to. She couldn't stop thinking that it was Thursday night, and Anthony was, as he'd said, 'committed to the long weekend." Two more days, two more nights, damn the consequences.

Kissing him now was different, but no less intoxicating. She hummed into his mouth, feeling that coil of need tightening low in her belly as she rocked once against him.

"Edith," he began, his tone wary. Out of nowhere the familiar rejection struck her. It had been an awful assumption on her part, to presume he would want her around for days on end. "Sweetheart, I'm not as young as I once was," he continued, nibbling her shoulder and, she noticed, avoiding her gaze.

"No one is," she shrugged.

"Yes, astute observation, Darling. What I mean is, that I may not be… ready again… for a while."

Edith smiled and hugged him, gathering his broad frame in her arms. "Anthony, if all I did for the rest of the night was kiss you, I'd be quite satisfied."

She meant it too, and was just as pleasantly surprised as he was when, a few minutes later, his concerns were abated. Edith arched a triumphant eyebrow as his length pressed against her belly.

"Yes, yes," he grumbled in mock annoyance. "You're right, I'm wrong. Don't get used to it."

Edith laughed in delight as she tentatively reached between them to take him in hand. She'd never touched a man before, and she blushed despite herself. "It's… smooth," she observed quietly, unable to be shy or embarrassed with him, like this.

"You aren't sore?" he asked, kissing the very tip of her nose.

"A bit, I suppose," she admitted, looking into his blue, blue eyes. "But don't let that stop you." When he gave her a lopsided grin, hands roaming her bare hips and rear, her heart stuttered a bit.

"My god, you're lovely," he said suddenly, his voice reverberating through her.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she replied, leaning up so he could ease himself in.

"I know I'm not exactly handsome, Edith," he replied, his voice light.

"You know nothing, then," she said, kissing him softly as she clasped her hands behind his neck. He groaned some sort of protest as his arms pulled her closer, and Edith happily curled into him allowing the kindly, tall man to guide her amateur movements and set their pace.

* * *

It was nearly four in the morning when Anthony began losing the battle against sleep. They'd only come off twice. They spent the rest of their time talking and laughing. They were lying together now, facing each other, legs tangled and arms locked.

He watched as Edith's eyes began drifting shut and her breathing steadied. Anthony was just trying to remember the last time he'd had the privilege of falling asleep next to such a remarkable woman when her eyes flew open and her head snapped up.

"Can I stay?" she asked suddenly, looking truly concerned.

"Stay?" Anthony repeated, quite lost, though some silly part of him hoped she meant forever.

"The night?" she asked, her voice small. "I'd like to stay, but I can go back to my room if you want. If you think it's best."

Anthony, as of ten hours ago, would never have believed it possible, but his heart swelled and burst at once within his chest. "Edith, Sweet, what in the world has happened to you that makes you expect me to kick you out of here?" he asked, alarmed that such a darling creature as she could be so used to ill-treatment.

"I don't know," she muttered, nearly crying.

"Oh, Sweetheart. I'd like nothing more than to have you stay with me," he whispered into her hair as he pulled her closer to him. "I want you to stay."

Anthony kissed the tears from her cheeks before settling against the pillows. Sleep overcame both of them quite quickly then, knotted together under the soft linens of the Navy Room at Downton Abbey.


	2. The Second Night

Anthony Strallan had always been an early riser, a habit picked up from a lifetime of avoiding his home life. When he lived at Locksley, with his parents, he found it easer to avoid his father's exacting scrutiny if he was up and out the door before the rest of the household awoke.

With Maude, whom he appreciated and felt responsible for, but whom he never deeply loved, he used work as an excuse to be gone early and back late. He'd row before sunup and spend all day in classes and meeting with students and grading papers. Maude, dear that she was, never did mind, or at least never complained.

But it wasn't Maude on Anthony's mind when he woke that morning, far later than he was accustomed. Rather, he grinned like an idiot the moment he met consciousness, reaching for the pretty strawberry blonde he'd fallen asleep with.

The grin faded as his hands met nothing but bedding. Just as his eyes opened, finding his room wretchedly empty, there was a brief rap at the door. Without warning a kind-faced older woman bustled in, causing Anthony to scramble for the sheets to cover his nudity.

"Oh, apologies, Dr. Strallan," the woman said in a vaguely Scottish accent, wholly unshaken. "You're not the only one having a lie-in this morning."

"Oh, well, lots of drink last night," he mumbled, quite at a loss as the woman took the liberty of picking up the forgotten wine bucket and melted-down candles. When she bent to gather Edith's knickers and camisole, Anthony began a pathetic, stuttering protest.

"Dr. Strallan, my name is Mrs. Carson. I'm the house manager. Edith asked that I launder her things and your sheets… discreetly."

Anthony knew he must have turned an alarming shade of red because she smiled and turned around to face the wall, crossing her arms over her as she waited. "Breakfast is laid downstairs when you're ready. If you'd like to step into the bathroom, I'll just take the bedding and clear out."

"Ah, yes," he muttered, understanding her subtle instructions. "Thank you, Mrs. Carson." He skipped into the connected bath, avoiding any of the room's mirrors, feeling like a school boy caught in the girls' dormitories.

The shower felt good, his old body recovering slowly from the scotch and the surprise activities after.

"Just bringing fresh towels," Mrs. Carson said from the door, causing him to jump. He grunted some startled thanks before hearing the door click shut again. His surprise when the curtain was pulled back from the tub and a pair of small arms wrapped around him from behind was easier to temper.

"Mrs. Carson," he moaned, wrapping his arms around the firm body pressed against his back. "What will your husband think?"

Edith's laugh was musical. "I hope you don't mind my intrusion," she said, voice muffled against his shoulder blade. "No one else is up yet, but that can't last forever so I thought I'd pop in. Do you mind?"

Anthony turned in her arms, still surprised by her beauty, even after the previous night's intimacies. "Mind?" he laughed, clasping his hands at the top of her perfectly formed little bum. "I can't think of a scenario where I mind your presence."

"Really?" she asked, her smile masking the sheer disbelief in her question. Again Anthony felt true worry that he'd never convince Edith of her worth.

"Well," he sighed, pulling her flush against him, "It helps that you're naked."

Edith laughed again, stretching up to hug Anthony tightly against her. "Thank you," she breathed against his ear, "For everything. You're wonderful."

"You keep thanking me like I've done you some sort of favor. You know that I'm the one who should be groveling at your feet, don't you?" he asked, kissing her damp shoulder.

The spray from the shower had effectively soaked and warmed them both. After a moment Edith braced herself on Anthony's shoulders as she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist. His hands cupped her thighs automatically, supporting her weight and copping just a small feel.

"You're strong," Edith chuckled. "And stupidly tall. I just climbed on you like a jungle gym and you didn't even flinch.

"Did I mention it helps that you're naked?" he said dryly, happily accepting the affectionate kiss she gave him.

"We should be naked… all… the time," she said between kisses.

"I believe I suggested as much last night and you rolled your eyes at me."

"Oh?" she feigned confusion. "Well, I suppose I changed my mind."

"Excellent news," he muttered. After a great many more kisses he asked quietly, "How are you feeling? Are you up for this?"

"You certainly are," she laughed, bucking once against his hard length to prove her point.

"For you, always. But I'm serious. I don't want to hurt you."

"You never could," she promised.

Anthony kissed her again, wondering if he'd be able to keep up and hold her weight at the same time.

"Here," Edith said, wriggling out of his arms to stand on her feet again. "This will be easier." She kissed him once before turning around, pulling him against her and guiding his hands to her hips. She bent just slightly at the waist, bracing her hands on the wall and arching her back, effectively pushing her rear into his growing erection.

"Good god, where did you come from?" Anthony gasped, feeling himself get impossibly harder as she rubbed against his length. She pulled one of his hands from her hip to her center, showing him she was ready.

"Please don't make me wait too long, Dr. Strallan," she moaned.

_The everlasting universe of things flows through the mind and rolls its rapid waves,_ Anthony began in his head, unwilling to disappoint his darling Edith. His hand moved slowly among her slick folds, while his other moved to her breast. She gasped, reaching between her lush thighs to guide him in.

Anthony held achingly still, partially to savor the moment and partially to focus on not coming right away.

When he started rocking within her, Anthony was forced to accept the painful, obvious truth that nothing in the remainder of his long and tedious life would feel as right as being with Edith Crawley. Anthony was glad, in a way, that she was facing away from him when they finished, together, because it meant she couldn't see the embarrassing tears that fell down his well-lined face.

* * *

When Edith finally made it to the dining room, hair wet and body sated, she found the majority of her family present. Sybil and Ros were still in their robes but everyone else had at least managed to get dressed. They were all nursing various shades of hangover and Edith just barely hid her glee from them. It was quite strange indeed, feeling so totally transformed and yet looking exactly the same as she always had done.

"Stop looking so chipper," Mary groused, dropping a lump of sugar into her tea. "You went to bed hours before the rest of us. Being boring shouldn't be rewarded. Where have you been, anyway?"

Edith had half a mind to speak the words that were at the tip of her tongue, to look her sister calmly in the eye and say, _Why, I was upstairs having the climax of the century_, or _Excuse my being chipper, I've had mind-blowing sex three times in the last twelve hours_, but being a lady she refrained.

"I've been sleeping, Mary. Was there something you needed?"

"Mama asked me to take old Strallan for a ride to show him the grounds, but Matthew and I are touring the churches. You'll have to do it instead," Mary said with a caustic roll of her eyes.

"Why must you all shout?" Sybil asked with a groan, sipping gingerly at some sort of smoothie.

Edith sat down with a larger-than-usual breakfast and shrugged in non-committal consent. She looked over to Cora, who took the heat pack from her eyes long enough for Edith to nod confirmation.

"Good morning," came Anthony's glorious voice, soft and certain as it always was. He managed to look casual as he poured himself a coffee and took the seat beside Edith. She just stared at her bowl of fruit and focused on separating the grapes from the melon.

"Anthony, my good man," Robert greeted, wincing at the sound of his own voice, "How'd you sleep?"

"Alright, though it took me a while to doze off," Anthony said, offering a passing smile to Edith at the seemingly innocuous comment. He was most certainly winning this little game, and Edith was beginning to feel competitive.

"I'm glad you're rested," Cora offered, ever the well-trained hostess. "Our Edith is going to take you on a horseback tour of the grounds this morning, if you're interested." She smiled at Anthony, then pushed her scrambled eggs away as if they had offended her.

Anthony raised a lackadaisical eyebrow at the offer as Mary said, "I'm so sorry, I would do it but I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up."

Edith was still astonished, after a lifetime of being her sister, that Mary Crawley had such confidence in her own allure as to apologize in advance for her general absence.

"Edith?" Anthony said, buttering a bagel, "Couldn't ask for a better tour guide, I'm sure. Tell me, Lady Edith, do you have much experience with, erm, riding?"

They made eye contact for the first time since his entrance and Edith's poor heart almost couldn't take it. His teasing helped contain her, as she wasn't one to be outdone so easily. "Oh yes," she assured, forcing herself to sound neutral. "I do enjoy riding, though I haven't had much opportunity of late."

"Oh?" Anthony asked, and she was just itching to touch him.

"Not much, I'm afraid, though I have a feeling I'll be riding quite a lot this weekend."

"I do enjoy a good ride," Anthony agreed, nudging Edith under the table with his knee. "Whether it be of the slow, leisurely variety…"

"Or a quick, hard sprint to get your heart racing," Edith finished, smiling at him in a challenging way that she knew would be missed by everyone else. Anthony, to her delight, smiled and clinked his cup against hers in cheers, a gesture Edith knew meant _touché_.

"Oh for god's sake," Mary growled under her breath. "I can't take the tedium. I'm going to take a shower."

As Mary stood, Edith tipped her head and said, "I hope you enjoy your shower. A perfectly invigorating way to start your day."

Mary just rolled her eyes and swept away failing, as everyone but Edith did, to notice Anthony choke on his coffee. The rest of breakfast passed largely in silence, though Edith and Anthony were quite interested in each other's meals.

* * *

"This is Hallam, and this handsome man is Tennyson," Edith introduced, gesturing to a chestnut Quarterhorse and a blonde Clydesdale respectively.

"Hallam and Tennyson, eh?" Anthony asked.

"Yes, well, I went through a phase." Edith and Anthony were standing between the two horses, both of which were saddled and ready to go. Anthony was wearing dark pants and some well-worn boots, a fisherman sweater and a corduroy jack. Edith couldn't stop staring, distinguished as he was in the late-morning light. She ran her hands fondly down Hallam's neck to keep from touching him.

"I hold it true, whate'r befall, I feel it when I sorrow most. Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

Edith was taken aback. She dropped her hands from Hallam's neck and turned to face an oblivious looking Anthony. "No one who has come here has understood why I chose the names Hallam and Tennyson."

"Well, who can ask for a better friend than one who would write over 130 cantos of the most precise poetry in human history out of grief over your death?" Anthony shrugged.

"Bet you can't guess my favorite canto," Edith challenged, reminding herself to breathe.

Anthony frowned, shifting his weight to his back foot as he thought. When he spoke he was only mildly hesitant. "The mystic glory swims away, from off my bed the moonlight dies, and closing eaves of wearied eyes, I sleep till dusk is dipped in gray…"

"… And then I know the mist is drawn, a lucid veil from coast to coast, and in the dark church like a ghost thy tablet glimmers to the dawn," Edith finished.

"Well remembered," Anthony whispered, leaning closer to her.

It seemed absolutely absurd to Edith that such a conversation should be happening in the stables between her two childhood ponies. Her soul seemed to sing with the sound of his voice and the seaglass color of his eyes, and the only thing she could think clearly was _More_.

"Canto sixty-seven," she muttered. "How on _earth_ did you know?"

"I didn't. I just picked my favorite and figured it stood a fair chance."

Taking a quick glance around to make sure they were very much alone, Edith pulled Anthony to her by the collar of his shirt and kissed him soundly on the lips. When she tilted her head so he might better access her mouth, he smiled and stepped back.

"Perhaps we better get going," Anthony suggested, "I don't trust myself with you here much longer."

"Very well," Edith sighed dramatically. "You take Hallam, I'll take Sonny," and with that they mounted, waving to the boy William as they left the yard.

* * *

Anthony was no expert horseman, though he had taken the requisite classes all boys of affluence did. He was glad that Edith had planned an easy ride for them. The trail they followed moved west along the property, following some fencing until it reached the orchards. Cutting through the orchards, Anthony knew the smell of apples would be forever after associated with the sun glancing off of Edith's shiny hair, and the image of her slender body rocking with the horse's steps. They rode in silence, though occasionally she'd look over her shoulder, her skin and eyes matching the colors of late summer fading into fall—brown and blush and gold.

From the orchard, the pair emerged at a small stream, which they crossed, finding a hidden trial through the woods on the other side.

"Is this the part of our story where you lead me into the forest and chop me into a thousand pieces?" Anthony asked, enjoying his view of Edith's rear in her tight riding pants.

"A little nervous?" she asked, glancing back with a cheeky grin.

"Not at all, Lovely. Merely curious."

Edith laughed. "I don't yet know where our story ends, Dr. Strallan, but I assure you it does not involve an axe murder in these woods.

Anthony chose not to reply, torn as he was between saying something witty and telling her he wished their story had no end.

It was a beautiful ride to be sure. The narrow trail they followed was flanked by tall, leafy oaks whose branches met overhead, dappling their way with sunlight. Being late summer, fat, happy birds sounded all around, and judging from the burble of water, Anthony figured they were following the stream.

Frankly, he didn't care where she led him or what it looked like because he knew that, after eighteen hours, he would follow Edith Crawley anywhere she asked, and he'd enjoy doing it too.

Anthony was still brewing over that unsettling bit of self-awareness when they finally reached their destination. A tiny, ideal white cottage stood in the middle of a clearing, an overgrown garden fenced off in front and a sloping yard to the left that led to the creek Anthony had been hearing.

"This is like a bloody storybook," Anthony said, following Edith's cue and dismounting the sturdy Hallam.

"You like it?" she beamed in that giddy, hopeful voice he was growing so fond of.

"Are you kidding? It's perfect. What's it doing all the way out here?" he asked, gesturing to the overgrowth around it, the vines covering its right side. "No drive, no garage, surrounded by forest."

"This used to be one of the tenant cottages back when this was all farmland. When necessity lost out to industry, this little place was basically forgotten."

"Shame," Anthony said, automatically reaching for Edith's hand as she moved them toward the little house with green shutters. "It's in remarkably good shape, considering."

"Well when I got home from my first year at boarding school I was a bit stir crazy, and lonely, and hated being in that huge, cold house while my sisters ran around and did awful things like dating and shopping with friends. I was out pretending to run away one day, and I came across this place. I ran all the way home and begged Papa to let me fix it up. He finally relented because, believe it or not, I can be quite persistent."

"You?" Anthony teased, kissing her knuckles quickly as they made their way up the paved walk.

"Yes, well," Edith continued, "It was all mine so long as I did the work. And it's been mine ever since. No power or running water, but I love it anyway."

Edith fished a key from her pocket for the front door, mumbling something about shamefully neglecting the garden this year. When she pulled Anthony inside after her, he was left totally speechless.

It was a small, but open space. There was a little unused kitchen to the left with a dinette set that looked to be at least a hundred years old. An ancient velvet sofa sat against the far right wall, and large French shutters protected the windows. The wide-plank floors were covered with threadbare rugs in haphazard patterns.

More appealing was the abundant evidence of Edith that littered the space between: a six-foot easel sat near a window, an old bar stool before it and a small shelf that looked handmade stuffed with brushes and paints and other tools. Not far from that a drawing horse waited with charcoals and pencils and a sketchpad in place. Finished canvases were stacked against the baseboards and select drawings were tacked over the walls. Great bookshelves were built in under the stairs immediately to the right of the door and they held novels, school texts, and dozens of old notebooks and moleskeine journals.

It was Edith, all of it, and Anthony felt like he was looking at the pretty, cluttered corners of her very soul.

"It's not much, I realize. And if it weren't for the wood stove in the kitchen I'd freeze in here seven months out of the year, but it's mine," she said, making a little circle as she gestured to the room.

"It's absolutely perfect," Anthony said quickly. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the paintings on the floor.

"Of course," she allowed, though she blushed. "Only don't judge too harshly. I'm no artist, and some of these date back ages. I started coming out here when I was twelve."

"These are very good," Anthony said, hoping she knew how utterly sincere he was. There were landscapes and still-lifes and the occasional portrait or domestic scene. "You've a great talent. Did you study art at all?"

Edith scoffed, catching Anthony's attention. "No, but you're sweet to think so."

"I can't believe your parents never said," he continued, sad when he found a particularly unflattering self-portrait she'd done. Edith had no clue at all how beautiful she was.

"They've never seen them," she said, finally crossing the room to join him. Apparently uncomfortable with his continuing exploration of her paintings, she distracted him by taking both his hands and wrapping them around her.

"Never? Don't they come out here?"

"I've never taken anyone here before," she confessed softly.

Failing to muster a proper response, Anthony opted instead to kiss her. After several long, delicious kisses and a too-brief taste of her tongue, Anthony asked, "What are the notebooks? School?"

"Ha," she said derisively. "No, those are the sad evidence of Edith's Crawley's attempt at writing."

"Anything you'll let me read?"

"I'd sooner walk naked through Piccadilly," Edith answered, pulling Anthony back outside.

* * *

He was there, in her most secret place, and Edith could only think of how right it felt to share it with him. She had never brought anyone here, nor shown anyone her paintings. She'd also never told anyone of her love for writing. Perhaps she felt he was safe because she'd likely never see him again. Or maybe it was that he was inherently non-judgmental. Whatever the reason, Edith knew she would tell this man anything, could show him anything, lay her soul bare before him, and never had she felt safer.

"I, I packed a picnic," she finally said, pulling him from her sanctuary into the bright midday sun. "Let's eat down by the creek, yes?"

The gorgeous man with the remarkably blue eyes nodded his assent as she pulled their lunch from Tennyson's saddlebag. They used the saddle blankets to save their clothes from the damp bank grass and left the horses to graze in the garden. "Far easier than weeding," Anthony cleverly observed.

Lunch was simple fare—cold chicken and rye bread, some cheeses and a fruit salad. Edith took the risk of packing ginger beer over white wine or lager, which Anthony approved. "A veritable feast," he said.

They ate mostly in silence, and Edith hoped she hadn't pushed him too far, hadn't revealed too much of herself or made him otherwise uncomfortable or bored. She can't imagine anyone finding much pleasure of such a simple thing, but if anyone could appreciate it, Edith figured it was Anthony.

Just as they were finishing up their meal, Anthony finally eased her worry. "So, you're an Oxford graduate, you paint, you write, you're independent from your lovely, albeit… oppressive family, you're staggeringly beautiful and have, I feel confident in my assessment, the most flawless breasts in history."

Edith blushed profusely, although she had no desire to appear like she was acting coy or demure. "I'm not a painter or a writer, Anthony, not at all. I just fiddle around with that stuff because I enjoy it and it helps relax me. I may have my degree, but I haven't done anything useful with it and you don't…" She paused, tossing the remnants of her sandwich into the brush and shaking her head.

"Don't what?"

"You don't have to tell me I'm pretty. It's alright, I've never cared as much as Mary or Sybil about how I look. I don't mind that I'm plain."

"You're so wrong, Edith, that I don't know how to begin convincing you otherwise," he said matter-of-factly.

Edith just shrugged and went about repacking the picnic basket. Anthony, after studying her for a moment, began to help without asking. There weren't many men like Anthony, Edith decided. Granted, her knowledge of men was limited, but she knew he was special.

How long had they known each other? Twenty hours? Twenty-two maybe? She shook her head at herself and the way her lungs constricted whenever their hands inadvertently brushed while packing the basket. She tried too to ignore the seeping sadness at the thought of having only two nights left with him.

"What's wrong, Sweet?" Anthony asked, and Edith wondered if she really looked that pathetic or if he was really just that perceptive.

Working hard to brighten her expression and her thoughts she said, "Not a thing in the world."

Anthony stopped her when she moved to fold the blankets, asking, "Are we in very much of a hurry?"

"Of course not, we can do whatever you like."

Pulling her close as he was, Edith had a fair idea what Anthony had in mind, and was fully on board. But then instead of nibbling her neck or feeling for the buttons of her blouse, he kissed her innocently and laid them down. His great arms were cradling her against his side, her head beneath his chin, her knees coming to rest against his leg. He didn't say anything, just got them both comfortable and sighed.

"This is really what you want?" she asked, finding it hard to accept that he would spend so much time with her for the sake of some cuddling.

"Yes," he said simply, pressing a few kisses into her hair. "Now shut up."

They were shaded by an ancient apple tree, close enough to the creek that their feet were slightly downhill from their heads. The summer birds were still going, and Edith could hear Anthony's steady breath move in and out of his lungs. It took no time at all to fall asleep.

* * *

By the time Edith and Anthony woke from their little nap, it was too late to really take advantage of their solitude, much as Anthony was tempted. But he also wanted Edith to know that time with her wasn't simply a means to his own pleasure. They chatted happily as they made their way back to the stables, and after a change of clothes, sat down to a game of chess in the drawing room.

"Edith, don't you think Dr. Strallan would like to visit with Mama and Papa?" Mary asked from the door, interrupting a story Edith had been telling about her flatmates, Tommy and Jimmy. Her presence was an intrusion in an otherwise secluded world. Anthony didn't relish the reminder that he wasn't alone on the planet with Edith.

"I, well, they asked that I," Edith stammered, effectively breaking Anthony's heart. It was a tough call, swooping in and telling Mary off seemed the thing to do, but it would surely give them away, and he didn't wish to embarrass Edith. Still, to stand by and let her suffer so seemed unthinkable.

"I assure you, it's been time well spent," Anthony said, consciously resisting the urge to touch Edith's knee or tug a lock of her hair affectionately.

"You really are too kind, Dr. Strallan," Mary said, shaking her head as she expertly cut Edith down with the comment.

"I assure you, I'm not," Anthony replied through a clinched jaw. He felt in the simple, seemingly polite interaction, Edith's frustration and hurt. Frankly he wanted to throttle Mary's skinny neck and shake the smirk from her face.

"Well, dinner is ready if you'd like to rejoin the party. Granny and Isobel have joined us for the evening," Mary said with a tight smile before sweeping away.

"She always knows just what to say," Edith said, standing and walking out before Anthony had time to stop her.

Dinner was made much more tedious by comparison to his day alone with Edith. Rosamund seemed intent on questioning him regarding anything and everything personal, which was awkward on several levels. He didn't relish lying, nor was he good at being salacious, and her questions made it that much harder to avoid mooning over Edith in front of everyone.

Robert wanted to relive the 'glory days' which Anthony remembered as being decidedly less 'glorious'. Mary was busy flirting with Matthew, a fine feat considering poor Edith was seated between them. But Edith, brave and lovely creature that she was, simply smiled affably and ignored all of them.

Anthony, aside from observing said goings-on, was rather stuck on one revolving train of thought.

His hesitation to defend Edith was nagging at him. It wasn't just that he wished he had been more adamant she was all manner of wonderful. No, it was more the other bit—that he had held back lest someone suspect anything.

Surely a tryst with the daughter of a school friend half his age would be ill-received, especially by Robert. It made sense also to save Edith the trauma of having to reject him in front of her family.

Why, then, did Anthony thrill so at the idea of declaring himself to god and everybody? She was beautiful yes, and he'd be immeasurably proud to have her on his arm, so to speak. But no, Anthony knew there was more to it than that.

He sipped at his dinner wine as the din of conversation fell away around him and his mind turned fully to the puzzle. He didn't just want bragging rights, he wasn't the sort. No, there was something about _declarations_, about public showings, acknowledgment of belonging. Anthony's heart raced as he realized where the train of thought was headed.

Anthony didn't want to simply enjoy Edith for the weekend and move on. What he was feeling was immense, bigger than him, more than he could contain. It swelled in his chest and ached in his heart. It felt an awful lot like—

"Anthony, old boy, are you alright?" Robert laughed, reaching over to sock Anthony lightly on the shoulder. "You look like you've just swallowed your knife."

The table grew quiet and Anthony blushed.

"He's fine, Robert. Don't be such a cad," Cora scolded teasingly. Everyone went back to their conversations except Anthony. When he finally risked a glance at Edith they made pointed eye contact.

His heart seized right up, the blood drained from his head, and he smiled daftly despite himself. _Bugger_, he thought. _Bugger, shit, damn, bugger_.

Edith frowned, asking without words if everything was alright. Anthony hardly knew. He shrugged and tried to look unaffected, wishing like hell he could stop thinking for one damn minute. That one, absurd, nagging thought, once it had popped in his head, wouldn't go away.

"Oh for god's sake," he mumbled to himself. Then in the most genial tone he could muster he said, "So sorry, Robert. I do believe the wine has gone to my head."

"Anthony? Are you ill?" Granny asked, looking less than interested in his answer.

"Should we call for a doctor?" Isobel offered.

"Oh heavens no," Anthony stammered, feeling the attention of the whole table turn to him. He paled under the scrutiny, and seeing Edith's sweet face looking so confused only made it worse.

"Anthony, you look quite unwell, Dear," Rosamund observed.

"No, no, no. Just a bit bushed is all," Anthony said, standing and dropping his linen napkin to the floor. He struggled to pick it up, his fingers not really doing what he wanted, as he said, "Think I might turn in."

"But the night's still young!" Robert argued, spreading his arms over the table like a king before a feast.

"It is, yes. Hate to be a damp towel over such an evening. Think I'll just go to bed, leave you all to it, and I'll, em, join you in the morning, yes?"

Before anyone else could protest Anthony hurried from the room, scrambling to reserve what little dignity he had left. He stumbled once on the stairs, cursed himself, and practically ran to his room. With a groan he flopped face-first onto the bed, so hung-up on Edith he didn't have time to regret his hapless exit.

"Twenty-four hours. You old, daft, bloody fool beggar," he mumbled into the duvet.

_Bugger. Bugger. Bugger._

* * *

"What on earth was that?" Ros asked, breaking the brief silence after Anthony's departure.

"Poor chap's always been a bit skittish like that," Robert shrugged, not the least bit perturbed. "Never really one for parties, though most of the people coming tomorrow he's met before. Can hold his liquor like no one I've ever seen, though. Man's practically immune to the stuff."

Edith had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling at that bit of information. Because of course it meant his 'belly full of scotch' had absolutely nothing to do with the previous night.

"Well why on earth did you invite him?" Mary whined, "I'd rather watch paint dry."

"I invited him because he's one of my oldest friends," Robert reminded her with a small hint of warning.

"Well I think he's boring," she huffed.

"I find him quite interesting, actually," Sybil tried, always the diplomat. "He's knows an awful lot of things."

"Oh, Anthony is incredibly smart," Cora agreed. "But not at all arrogant about it."

Edith all the while kept her lips tightly pressed together. One word about Anthony and she was sure to give herself away. As much as she longed to tell her family how funny and kind and delicious he was, she knew he probably wouldn't appreciate it. Anthony was hers for the weekend only, and no more.

"Edith," Cora said in her _what-else-have-you-got-to-do?_ voice. "Will you please go check on Anthony and make sure he has everything he needs?"

"Yes, Mama."

"And Edith? We're just about done here. Feel free to return to your book when you're done, or join us in the game room if you want."

"I'll probably just go to bed," Edith said neutrally, kissing her Granny on the cheek and looking as begrudged as possible as she left.

Edith didn't knock when she reached Anthony's room, unwilling to risk his turning her away. She heard him grumbling something about "old, daft, bloody, fool, beggar" into his mattress when she entered.

"Anthony, it's me," she said. He jumped up immediately, moving close to shut the door behind her.

"Hallo, come to turn down the bed?"

"I've come to mess it up," she amended.

Looking quite stern, Anthony bent close and whispered, "Were you followed?"

Edith swallowed a giggle. "No, Sir. Sent from behind enemy lines to see if you're alright. And I've been discharged for the evening, so I won't be missed."

Anthony gave her a cheeky, approving grin before closing the distance between them, kissing her softly with warm, dry lips.

"_Are_ you alright?" Edith asked, running a hand through his hair and down his neck.

"Quite, Sweet one."

"You left in a bit of a hurry."

"Well if I'd stayed, one of three things was bound to happen."

"Do tell," Edith prompted, hooking her fingers through his belt loops and resting her head against the door.

"I was either going to drink myself into a coma, throw the roast at Mary, or stand up and have my wicked way with you right there against the sideboard in front of your whole family."

"The first would have put a damper on things, but the other two are absolutely inspired."

"Perhaps tomorrow night," he said. He was so close to her face that his nose bumped against hers and she could feel his breath on her lips.

"In the meantime, let's work with what we've got, yes?"

"Were you really sent here?" he checked, and Edith wondered how disgraced he'd be to get caught with her of all people.

"Really. They wanted me to check on you. They're almost making it too easy."

"Doesn't spoil it for you, does it?"

"Hardly," she scoffed, launching herself into his arms. It had been roughly four hours since their last kiss, which was decidedly too long for Edith. She wanted to devour him, to taste every corner of his mouth and reacquaint herself with the firm muscles and taut lines of his body. She would gladly drown in him, or at the very least in his eyes.

They undressed each other in record time. Anthony practically threw Edith onto the bed with his great hands at her sides. She was all embarrassing moans and mewling as he kissed her from ear to stomach. When he moved himself lower on the bed, bringing his face against her bent knee, she tensed.

This act was all well and good in theory, when Mary bragged about it to Sybil or Edith read about it in one of Mama's romances or what have you, but it was quite different in the flesh, as it were.

Anthony, patient and calm, ran his fingertips up and down her legs, knee to hip, in soothing patterns. He looked up at Edith with an honest, open expression so pure it startled her. "Please, Sweet? I want to taste you. Please?"

Edith felt her entire body turn red and she bit her lip, torn.

"Trust me, Sweetheart. And if you tell me to stop I will. Please, trust me?"

Well that did it, because of course she did trust him. She was his, there was no going back. "I trust you," she nodded frantically, forcing herself to breathe and staring up at the ceiling.

Her eyes shut of their own volition when she felt his lips suck and kiss up her inner thighs—left, then right, then left—coaxing her knees further apart all the while. He bit at her hipbone, kissed just above her curls, and then he was there.

_Oh my_, she thought, ashamed by her own body and his proximity to her wet, pulsating core. She gasped when she felt his nose nudge the very top just_ there_. And when his tongue made one, slow sweep between her lips, she just about died.

Her body jerked of its own volition at the sensation and her eyes snapped open. Anthony glanced up from between her legs and asked, "Alright?"

"Ye-yes," she whispered, and then most speech was beyond her.

He worked slowly at first, _tasting_, savoring what he could. The flat of his tongue moved over her in broad strokes until she was simpering for more in a voice she barely recognized as her own. And then, the studious and shy Dr. Strallan used his hand to part her folds and flexed his tongue, pushing harder as he fished out her nub, working it well.

Edith should have been mortified, she knew, but she couldn't. Not even when he moved lower, burying his whole face in her so he could push the tensed muscle _inside_, thrusting several times, just enough to leave her breathless.

She risked a glance down, certain he couldn't be enjoying this half as much as she was. But as he pulled back to nibble lightly on her outer lips, she saw nothing but euphoric serenity in his features. The man looked practically relaxed.

"Anthony," Edith said firmly, earning his eye contact. Apparently something in her expression was all the permission needed.

Smiling like a boy at Christmas, he resituated, his great hands jerking her hips toward him, moving her legs over his shoulders and scooping beneath her backside to lift her up to his face.

That clever, knowing tongue of his plunged and licked and teased a stream of hissed exclamations from Edith as he brought her close but never quite there over and over. Just when she thought it couldn't get much better, he nibbled—_nibbled_—on her clit, pulling a yelp from her. Out of nowhere a finger was inside her, slowly moving in and out, teasing her where she wanted pressure most. Then a second finger, curling to find that spot they'd discovered together the night before.

"Oh, oh Anthony," she whined, her hips bucking greedily into his ministrations. "Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease."

And then Anthony Strallan hummed, and Edith exploded. Her body went rigid, her back arched violently off the mattress, and the cry that cracked from her own throat was inhuman.

"That's my darling," she heard him muttering, stroking her lightly to ease her through the end of her orgasm. She was still breathless and dizzy when he gently set her legs down and rejoined her against the pillows.

"Yes?" he asked, as if her ridiculous display wasn't enough. She looked at him with a watery laugh, and couldn't even be self-conscious when he wiped a hand over his glistening chin. How could she? With anyone else, maybe, but not with Anthony. Never with Anthony.

"I will never doubt you again," she said, her voice hoarse. She had meant to be sarcastic, but was entirely serious by mistake.

"I won't give you cause to," he answered, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze as he leaned in for a kiss. Edith felt a sort of wonder at tasting herself on his lips, because it was a kind of togetherness she'd never known to long for, hadn't thought to expect. He had claimed her, in so many ways, and she was entirely his.

* * *

Rain, and maybe a touch of honey. That's how Edith Crawley tasted, and Anthony was addicted. He realized, with some true alarm, that he would gladly do that over and over for the rest of his life if his reward was her groans of pleasure.

Before he could even tell himself he was an idiot, Anthony had pictured it: a quiet life together, setting up a home near the university with a studio in the attic or an outbuilding where she could do anything she liked. On holidays he would take her anywhere she'd want, go romping about the world together.

He could almost see her rocking a baby, but the idea was too painful on several levels, so he pushed it aside with a shiver. But the rest was just close enough to possible to be ignored. He couldn't convince his damned heart to stop hoping.

Possible perhaps in theory, but impossible. Edith deserved far more than the quiet life he could provide and the occasional weekend adventure. No, he would savor this weekend and set his little fish back into the pond.

"You look like you're making some fairly depressing decisions," Edith said, pulling Anthony back to the present.

"Not even remotely," he lied. He suspected she saw right through him, but obliging girl that she was, Edith didn't push it.

"Good," she chirped. "I want you at least twice before we go to sleep."

Anthony felt a pang of regret. "Sweet, I don't want to disappoint you. I'm not—"

"A young man," she finished. "I know." She dropped her head, whether in annoyance or mocking he couldn't say. Then, snapping her eyes to his she asked, "Anthony, how old are you?"

"Forty-eight."

"So, you're not a hundred?"

Her attitude was so innocent and sincere he simply said, "No."

"Oh," she smiled, leaning toward him with a sweet kiss. "Good. Think maybe you can stop acting like it then?" Her smile transformed into a mischievous little smirk and she bit her lip.

"You think you're quite clever, don't you?"

"Yes," she giggled, wriggling out of his hold to scoot to the far side of the bed. "I found you, after all."

"I thought I found you," Anthony said, easily capturing her with his long arms.

"I only let you think that."

"And the wine-induced tears? All fake?" He was trying to still her hands, using force but not really. They were half-wrestling by that point, all limbs and skin, each trying to pin the other to the bed.

"Oh no, those were real tears. I was miserable."

"And now?"

Edith stilled, her face growing serious as she shook her head. They were all tangled, lying close and facing each other on their sides. An odd position, but it would have to do, because if he wasn't inside her that instant Anthony thought he might die.

It was a quick, frantic coupling, the angle allowing Anthony's hands to roam and his length to move in shallow but effective drives. Edith was clinging to him like a life source, her knee hitched up over his hip, and the innately animal part of Anthony savored the notion that he was her strength and protection, at least in this.

It didn't take long for her inner walls to flutter and tighten around him. "Oh god, Edith," he gasped, his hand gripping her hip to steady her. "You feel so good, so tight and warm."

"Because I'm yours," she whimpered, pressing her forehead to his, holding onto his bicep with her trembling, bony little hand. "I've only ever been yours."

He came then, so hard it almost knocked the wind out of him. His movements grew weaker and more erratic as his release spilled, Edith tightening around him, milking him until he was spent.

Winded and more than a little dazed, Anthony's head fell to Edith's breastbone. She cooed and pet his hair and back in circuitous motions. He'd gone soft inside her long before they finally separated.

As Anthony leant over her legs to capture the duvet, he saw some of himself trickling down her thigh, and he couldn't deny the profundity of such a sight. There was something elemental in that, in joining her, in feeling and hearing and seeing each other, of leaving something of himself in her.

He was trembling when he laid back again, and he was glad Edith was already half asleep as she draped herself over him.

_Bugger_.

* * *

"I fell asleep before I got my way," Edith pouted when they woke in the early hours of the next day. Well, she had woken, then forced Anthony out of sleep by kissing his jaw and shoulder and ear and lips. He looked rather handsome in the predawn light, hair all mussed.

"Mmm, not my fault," he groaned, frowning as he tried not to wake. "And if you're going to keep abusing my body like this I'm going to need my rest."

"You can rest when we're done. As it is, I have to sneak back to my room shortly and I won't go until I've 'had my wicked way with you,' as you put it."

Anthony finally opened his eyes, and Edith felt her heart stumble a bit.

"I'll do all the work," she bargained, shifting her naked self over him. When she reached to take him in hand she couldn't help but feel a bit proud. "Anthony," she scolded, "You're already hard. Rather undermines your protest, wouldn't you say?"

"Greedy thing doesn't know what's best for him," Anthony grumbled, though he couldn't hide his contentment or the fact that his breathing had quickened. He smiled that crooked, perfect smile at her, eyes bright and sleepy.

Edith couldn't stifle her satisfied whine when she sank down on his girth. They moved with that slow lassitude of morning, taking their time, both largely silent and contained. It was so different from the other times, their eyes searching each other out, their rhythm unhurried.

Anthony reached up, ghosting his fingertips along the underside of her breasts thoughtfully before looking back up to her eyes. "You're so beautiful," he muttered, lifting his hips to meet Edith's lazy, rolling movements.

The absolute conviction in his eyes as he said it was so foreign to her that at first Edith didn't know what to think. The reality of the situation seemed to catch up with her all at once and the consuming terror that struck her suddenly was inexplicable but sharp and extreme. It forced her to look away as it wracked through her body.

"Look at me," Anthony asked gently. Edith put her hands on his chest, raking her nails over him to distract him, as she pressed her chin to her shoulder. She quickened her pace, relentless and determined.

"Edith," he said, "Honey, I won't last."

"I know," she snapped. "I want you to."

Anthony spasmed fitfully within her, and Edith barely let him finish before rolling off his lap and climbing off the bed.

"Edith, what?" he asked, confused and trying to gather his wits. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, hurrying for her clothes where they were scattered over the room. "I just, um, I just need to get to my room before anyone else wakes up."

She heard Anthony stand but refused to look at him. She couldn't begin to explain the fear that was coursing through her like ice, but she knew she couldn't stay.

"Edith, slow down," Anthony tried, but Edith was already out the door.

"I'll see you at breakfast," she managed before shutting the door behind her and rushing to her room, willing herself not to fall apart the whole way down the hall.


	3. The Third Night

Edith sat in her windowsill until the sun came up behind the hills, trying to sort her thoughts and failing to come up with one clear notion to hold on to. Hoping her hasty departure and clipped answers hadn't startled Anthony too much, she moved to her bath. A hot shower would surely help clear her mind.

If Edith was totally honest with herself, she had to admit that she did like the way he had looked at her, how earnest his eyes were. It had scared her. Why, though, she couldn't begin to explain.

The water was good, refreshing. Edith hardly felt herself.

Bat that wasn't quite true. She might have felt more herself than ever before in her life.

"Good heavens," she moaned, putting her face in the hot stream of water and focusing on the way it almost burned her skin, trying to come to her senses. She was, after all, a sensible woman. There was a simple and easy explanation for the way her heart ached when she saw him, the way she felt so at ease and safe just by his entering the room, the familiarity between them like they'd known each other all their lives.

It couldn't be the sex, she was certain, because Mary had been boasting about her conquests since she was seventeen, and Edith _knew_ Mary had never experienced something like this. But if it wasn't physical that left only the emotional, or the spiritual, or perhaps those were the same.

"Careful, you'll drown," Anthony said out of nowhere, causing Edith to jump about a foot into the air. When she had snuck into his shower he hadn't so much as blinked. Edith was not so smooth. His arms were around her before she could be embarrassed by her nudity, and it came naturally to her, the way she folded herself into him.

"You crashed my shower yesterday, it only seemed fair to return the favor," he explained, pressing a kiss to her wet hair. His hands were splayed across her back, soothing and comforting as if they knew.

"I suppose you're right," she managed, teetering on the edge of being seductive and wanting him to see right through her. Edith knew men feared virgins because they feared the inevitable attachment. She had always found the notion absurd, and a bit self-flattering for the gentleman in question, and always swore she wouldn't be some clingy, crazy woman. But she couldn't help the way she felt now.

"You left in a bit of a hurry. I came to check on you," Anthony said softly.

"Is that _all_ you came for, Professor?" she joked coyly. But he didn't bite.

"Yes." Then, when Edith avoided his eyes, the man curved his great frame down, looping his arms all the way around her ribs to hold her. It wasn't an embrace that asked for something, a segue to his own purposes. It was one that gave only—comfort and strength and understanding and patience.

With Anthony stooped as he was, Edith was able to lay her head over his shoulder, pressing her forehead to his neck, arms folded beneath her so she was burrowed against him.

Edith couldn't be sure how long they stood that way, or when the tears began to spill down her already wet face. She looked up at him all the same, at his calm, concerned eyes and those beautiful thin lips.

"Anthony," she sighed, stretching the last little bit to reach his mouth in a kiss that was small, soft, but spoke volumes. Just as they separated, and Anthony was about to speak, there was a knock at the door.

"Edith?" came Cora's voice through the door.

"My mother!" Edith squeaked, both of them freezing in alarm. Luckily, Edith's tub had a solid curtain around it, but that didn't make her any less panicked.

"I won't make a sound, she'll never know," Anthony whispered. But just as Edith heard the door click open, she looked up to realize Anthony's head was well above the curtain rod.

"Anthony!" she hissed, urging him to crouch down. Out loud she called, "Mama? Is that you?"

Edith waited with bated breath for her mother's screech of disapproval, but it never came. Relief washed over her then, knowing that if Cora Crawley had seen a man in Edith's shower they would well know by now.

"Yes, Baby. I was wondering if you might run to town for me."

"Okay, can I shower first?"

Edith was blushing head to toe while also trying not to laugh. She was focusing desperately on not cluing her mother in and on ignoring the view Anthony was getting in his hunkered position before her.

"Well of course. It's just, Papa is going to take all the boys fishing and I want to bring a picnic to them. Mary's still asleep and I was hoping you'd run to Beryl's for some cakes and things."

Edith barely heard what her mother was saying because half-way through Cora's explanation, Anthony's lips found their way to Edith's skin.

"Mama, fine," Edith snapped. "Please, can I just have some privacy?"

"Of course, sorry," Cora said, her heels clicking away. But then Anthony unexpectedly grabbed Edith's hips, pulling her center directly to his face where he went straight to work. The deft maneuver took less than a second and provoked and involuntary "Ah!" from Edith.

"Everything alright?" her mother called from the door.

"Nicked myself shaving," Edith said, quite proud of how calm she sounded.

"Okay. See you for breakfast. I'll make a list."

The second the door shut Edith said, "Oh! Anthony Strallan!" She was trying to sound stern, to scold him, but one trembling hand was scrambling for purchase against the wall while the other held Anthony's head in place.

"Couldn't resist, sorry," he muttered, sounding far from apologetic. The vibrations of his sonorous voice drove her mad and Edith lost most rational thought.

"An-Anthony, I can't stand much longer," she said, worried her knees would give out. Surely he could feel the way they wobbled, what with his head cradled between them and all.

Without a word, Anthony guided her down to kneel before him. She did as he suggested with those great hands, and when he leaned to kiss her she was no longer surprised, but no less thrilled, by the taste of herself.

"Love the tub," he muttered, guiding her to lie back against the sloped end. He slipped his hands beneath her, forcing her hips up and her legs over either side of the tub before he began again.

"Mmm, me too," Edith gasped, feeling so close. Lifting her head she said, "Wait, Anthony—don't you want to… to…"

"No, Love," was all he said, and Edith couldn't help but smile at the endearment.

It was growing louder, that fear that was getting more and more difficult to ignore. It was a thrilling, sinking feeling, like the first big drop on a rollercoaster. Edith could only describe it as falling, fast and hard, and she was totally powerless to stop it.

* * *

Anthony was beginning to feel a bit guilty. Not only was he sneaking around with Robert's daughter in his own home, but he was ignoring the man to do it as well. It was all beginning to feel unforgivably disrespectful and untoward. Or rather, it had always been disrespectful and untoward and it was finally catching up with Anthony.

Still, Anthony couldn't quite bring himself to feel badly about Edith, when a chance meeting in the lower gardens turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

"Anthony, what do you say to a bit of fishing this morning? Relax before tonight's festivities, hmm?" Robert asked at breakfast, where Edith and Anthony were cautiously avoiding each other's eyes.

"Sounds good," Anthony said, fighting the urge to say he'd rather just go with Edith to town.

"Perfect weather for it," Tom added. "Matthew and I have a wager for best catch, you want in?"

"Think the safest bet is against my catching anything," Anthony said, ignoring the quip Ros made about being a catch himself.

Robert and Anthony had never been the sort of mates who need to discuss every little thing. Their relationship was sustained by comfortable silences and mutual respect and quiet understanding born of growing up at the same time in the same way. As such, as Matthew and Tom laughed and joked a hundred yards upstream, Anthony and Robert stood quietly, casting and reeling and frowning at their un-tested bait.

"Slow day for fish, I'm afraid," Robert grumbled.

"Mm-hmm," Anthony said, having always preferred the act of casting a line over the actual catching of fish. He liked the cool water against his hip waders and the sun in the trees and the smell of the creek. He did not like watching the frantic trout gasping and thrashing, eyes wide and bulging, and he hated smashing them against a stone to kill them. It felt selfish and brutal and cruel.

"What's she like?" Robert asked a while later.

Anthony nearly dropped his pole, his blood running cold for a moment before logic told him that Robert couldn't possibly know he was referring to his own daughter. Anthony gaped at Robert, probably looking like a trout himself, and began sputtering some sad excuse for a response.

"Easy, old boy. I know a woman's to blame for that dopey look on your face. No use denying it."

"Yes, well, I suppose," he stammered. Catching Robert's skeptical grin, he took a deep breath and conceded. "She's kind, and brilliant, and stunningly attractive, and utterly too good for the likes of me."

"There isn't a woman in the world that isn't too good for the man who loves her," Robert said sagely, flicking his line once or twice.

"Well it's certainly true for her. She's too good for anyone, though, and she doesn't even know it."

"And you love her," Robert said, a statement of fact rather than a question.

Anthony opened his mouth to argue, but the truth came out before he could stop it. "More than anything." He blushed then, and felt a brief flicker of panic at the realization. "I, um, I didn't know it could happen like that, feel this…big."

Robert nodded knowingly and shook his head, as if they were comparing war stories. "Big. Love is always like that. First love, great love, last love…"

"I'm afraid she may be all three," Anthony said, recasting.

Robert was looking out at his bobber contemplatively. Silence fell between them again. Anthony felt light, having unburdened the truth from his shoulders, but also terribly anxious. Once he had said it out loud there was no more denying it, especially to himself. _Two days?_ he thought, questioning his own sanity. If he were a younger man he wouldn't have believed it possible, but Anthony had plenty of experience. He knew the difference between love and lust, real and imagined.

How would he ever get on after this weekend? He would have to, that was his only option. He wouldn't ask Edith for more, having taken so much from her already and being able to offer her so little in return. He would set her back in the water, so to speak.

"Stop brooding. You've never taken well to being happy. Maybe now's the time to learn," Robert groused, reeling in his line a bit.

"Did Cora tell you to say that?"

Robert blatantly ignored Anthony, which was a rather obvious yes, and they went back to fishing in silence.

An hour later, Rosamund's voice interrupted the tranquility, earning a regretful moan from both men. "How's the day's catch?" she called. Anthony's attitude improved greatly when he turned to see all the Crawley women coming over the crest of the lawn toward them, including his Edith.

She had a ribbon pulling her hair from her face, and was wearing a short skirt with a sort of sheer layer, a combination that allowed her gorgeous legs to be silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. Perfection he thought with a sad, capitulating sigh.

Anthony followed Robert out of the water, leaving their poles in their stands, as everyone gathered beneath a bank of leafy oaks. Cora was setting up low, folding tables and laying out rather un-picnic-like cakes and savory dishes.

"Is this why you were sent to town?" he asked Edith quietly, helping her unfurl a stack of blankets.

"No, Mama was trying to keep you out of my pants for a few hours," she said calmly. Anthony nearly swallowed his tongue before Edith laughed and squeezed his arm. "Anthony, relax, I was just kidding."

"You're a terrible person," he chuckled under his breath.

"You're an easy target, Darling."

Cora interrupted their hushed conversation with a gasped, "Damn," earning Edith's attention while Anthony struggled to tear his eyes away from her long arms and the milky white skin of her neck.

"Edith, I left the box of wine glasses up in the kitchen. Would you be a dear and run back for them? They might be heavy so Anthony could help, if you'd be so kind."

Edith and Anthony agreed together, neither risking a glance at the other until they were all the way across the expansive yard.

* * *

"It almost too easy," Edith observed, clasping Anthony's hand as soon as they'd reached the privacy of the cool, dark hall. "If I didn't know better I'd be certain my mother was trying to get us alone together."

"I doubt very much this is what your mother had in mind when she suggested I come for the 'country air and good company'," Anthony chuckled. Then, more seriously, he said, "Tonight's going to be torture. All these people I haven't seen in twenty years, talking about football and taxes and divorces. Being in the same room as you and not being able to touch you. Torture."

"Mmm," Edith agreed, deciding to seize the moment. She pulled Anthony's hand, tugging him without warning from the hall into the dark, abandoned wine cellar.

The wine cellar, which was roughly the size of Edith's entire flat in London, was perfectly square with low ceilings, wine racks lining the walls and crates of new orders stacked in the corner. A table stood in the middle, used to unpack and inventory. When Anthony reached for the cord that hung from the overhead lamp, Edith followed and turned it off again.

"The glasses we're meant to fetch, they're uh, not in here, are they?" Anthony asked.

"No. Are you very disappointed?"

"Terribly," Anthony said.

In the dark, Edith walked back slowly until her rear found the table, pulling Anthony with her by his sweater all the while. Taking a seat, she pulled Anthony between her legs, one hand at his neck urging him down for kiss. When his participation was more passive than she'd hoped, Edith trailed her other hand lower, cupping him firmly through his trousers.

"Edith," he warned, trying to step back, but she caught him with her heels at his thighs.

"Already hard, and hot," she murmured against the skin at the dip of his throat. "I love that I have that effect on you."

"Oh, you do," he assured, as if that might appease her and get her to let up. "You do, Darling. You've brought me back to life, in so many ways." She smiled against his neck, working on his belt and fly to free him. "But Sweet," he said, catching her wrists, "We really shouldn't do this now. There isn't time."

"I don't want this to be slow, Anthony," she whispered, her voice sounding as husky and animalistic as she felt. "I want you to take me, hard, and I want to feel you come apart. I want you to lose your control just this once. Take, me, Anthony," she demanded. Freeing his erection, she ran her thumb over the tip as she reached up to bite his ear and his jaw.

He bucked into her hand, a movement she recognized as wild and involuntary, even in the dark. "You're going to get me killed," he moaned. "What if someone were to walk in?" Edith was ready to do some more convincing when Anthony pulled her to her feet and turned her around in one swift, forceful movement. Even still, his hands were gentle on her arms.

"Yes, Anthony," she gasped. "How do you want me?"

She was goading him, she knew, and could only hope it was working. His hands traveled down her ribs to her hips, jerking her against him for a moment so she could feel his length through the thin fabric of her skirt. He kissed the back of her neck sweetly, and then without warning, cupped one arm around her stomach and put a hand between her shoulder blades, bending her at the waist.

There were no more words after that, at least none that formed sentences. Anthony spread Edith's arms wide, laying her body flat against the surface of the table. She could feel the thick grain of the untreated wood beneath her fingertips, her cheek, and against her breasts through the thin cotton blouse she wore.

He moved to her skirt next, flipping the sheer layer over her back and then pushing the tight miniskirt beneath up over her hips. He stroked her lower back affectionately before sliding her knickers down to her knees. He seemed content to leave them there, but Edith shimmied them down to her feet and stepped out of them.

"Edith," he moaned, running his length between her folds, spreading the liquid heat that had pooled there.

"Yes," she hissed, nearly coming undone from his hardness against her sensitive flesh.

Anthony didn't offer much warning before he entered her up to the hilt. When she lurched forward, the edge of the table almost painful against her legs, he mumbled a sort of apology. His hands found her hips, holding her in place against him, and Edith was certain she'd have bruises from his fingertips tomorrow. The thought thrilled her.

"Hard, Anthony," she said—half demand, half plea.

He moved, his pace quick and his thrusts deep and unrelenting. Edith couldn't do much but hold on, which left her free to enjoy the feeling of him, thick and throbbing, as he slid effortlessly out and snapped back in. The faster he went the louder the sounds became—her whines, his grunts, the slapping of flesh against flesh. It was a cacophony Edith never would have imagined enjoying before she met him, before she accidentally gave her heart away.

Absently, she wondered if such an act would be far more repulsive and disturbing with someone she didn't care about so deeply. But then he nudged her legs further apart with a knee, changing the angle just enough that all thought left her completely and all she felt was that searing hot need for more.

"Edith, I'm going to come," Anthony said, and the man sounded almost apologetic.

"Oh, god, I want you to. I want to feel it. Come for me, Anthony. Hard," she groaned, her voice stilted by his pounding.

He did, finishing her off with him. She felt him swell up and spasm, felt his warm release. He was panting, they both were, when he slipped out of her and sank down against the table leg at her feet.

They were quiet for a long while, Edith still bent over the table, though she reached back to pull her skirt down. She felt the trickle of him slowly dripping down her thigh, and suddenly his hand was there with a handkerchief.

"I should probably be embarrassed that you're cleaning me up," she muttered, her voice sounding dreamy, "But I can't for the life of me remember why."

"Maybe if we didn't know each other," he said. "As it is, there's nothing you could say or do that would make me think less of you."

Edith, her wobbling knees finally giving out, dropped down to Anthony's lap, facing him. A thin sheen of sweat dampened his forehead; she could taste the salt when she pressed her lips there.

"I didn't hurt you?" he asked suddenly, and even in the total darkness her eyes had adjusted enough to see the concern etched on his face.

Edith smiled. "Far from it. I love that you're so thorough and patient, but every once in a while I think I want to make you lose control. Does that make sense?" she asked, tucking him back into his trousers now that he was soft and sated again.

"Yes, and believe me, you make me long to lose control much more often than you probably realize."

"Well, feel free as often as you like," she giggled.

He kissed her, softly and sweetly. "I adore you," he whispered, and Edith felt that thrilling fear and excitement at once. Her heart pounded in her chest and her body wanted to sing.

After a few moments recovery, a crate of wine glasses was located in one of the storage rooms near the kitchen and Anthony carried them like the gentleman he was. Returning to the family after such an interlude should have been strange, Edith thought, but it wasn't. Rather, it felt right, like she and Anthony were just who and where they were meant to be.

* * *

The picnic and subsequent games were a bit of a trial for Edith. Not looking too much at Anthony, but not avoiding him too much either, trying not to clue anyone in on how wildly different she felt from her old self, and yet how complete—it took a great deal of effort.

"If I'd have known, I never would have started this," Anthony said, pulling Edith from her thoughts.

"What?" she gulped, wondering if he could read her thoughts and regretted the…attachment.

He frowned. "The charades. When I suggested it I was only kidding. I didn't think they'd take me seriously."

Edith felt a nervous laugh tumble from her as Matthew failed a short distance away. "It would have happened regardless," she assured. "Some things are just inevitable."

"Yes," the man said gravely, causing Edith to inspect him sharply. They held eye contact a moment longer than was probably wise before remembering themselves.

"Edith, are you boring poor Anthony?" Mary asked, her voice barely playing at jest.

"Oh, a mind such as Anthony's could never be bored," Ros said, causing Anthony to laugh in discomfort.

"Is Granny coming to the party tonight, Mama?" Edith asked, changing the subject.

"She said she was," Cora answered in that well-practiced tone and expression she often turned on when talking about Violet.

"If she comes Mama's sure to be displeased," Ros said. "The Grays are coming and she's been in a feud with Olympia Gray since the mid-eighties."

"That bodes well for no one," Anthony said quietly as everyone else turned back to the game.

"Yes, well, stick with me. I'm her favorite," Edith said. "Or at the very least I'm the most cynical and therefore get along best with her."

"I've been getting in trouble with Violet Crawley since before you were born," Anthony said, and the way he raised his brow and gave that crooked smile caused Edith to laugh. She stifled it quickly.

They'd been remarkably lucky so far without being terribly careful, having gone completely undetected. Still, she wasn't willing to risk it and openly flirting with Anthony in front of the whole family probably wasn't prudent.

Edith laid her hand on top of his in the blanket, just briefly, just because she couldn't bear to go another moment without touching him. She wondered briefly how she would manage without him come Monday.

Edith was aware, always, and had been her whole life. She was aware of how lonely she was, of how different she was from her sisters. She was aware of her strengths and her flaws. She was painfully aware of how drawn she was to Anthony, how irrevocably tied to him she felt. And she was aware, as ever, of that sharp bittersweet fear that kept pulling at her.

She was silent the rest of the afternoon, up until they all parted to get ready for the evening, and she knew Anthony probably noticed too.

Trying to distract herself from her own thoughts, Edith prepared for the party with a great deal more enthusiasm than she normally would. She wanted to look nice for Anthony, but also because of him. If he really believed she was beautiful she'd do her absolute best not to prove him a liar.

Edith pinned back her hair in a loose chignon and put on a touch of eyeliner and mascara. Her closet was a bigger challenge. Edith spent her life in jeans or leggings, cotton tops, and cardigans. She didn't own anything particularly alluring or overtly sexy. Fingering all the oxford shirts and jersey wrap dresses on hangers, she decided it wouldn't suit to dress so out of character anyway.

Anthony had said she was beautiful while she was in riding pants and a worn flannel shirt. Surely he wouldn't mind her skinny tweed trousers in burgundy and the deep-v tee-shirt that was cut just low enough to be a bit scandalous. She liked the way the pants hugged her rear, and that the tee was of a fine enough material to be properly dressed-up if she chose.

She took a long charcoal cardigan and a navy blazer, unsure which to pick. After a few minutes debate she went to Sybil.

"Cardigan, for sure. It's more you. And here," Sybil said, offering her a long bronze necklace that knotted at the bottom. "This will add just enough sparkle to make it party-appropriate. Plus it lies perfectly across your cleavage and shows it off. And you have to wear heels."

"I've got my nude pumps. Will that work?"

"Perfect," Sybil smiled.

Edith was standing in her room, in her heels, looking at her reflection. There was a woman staring back at her, and one who was happy. Edith hadn't seen her in a very long time. And something in the eyes, and the soft smile, said that the woman knew things, had secrets. Edith thought of Anthony, of his habits, of the fact he liked his arm around her while he slept, and grinned.

"Is that as dressed-up as you get?" Mary asked from the door, not bothering to knock.

Edith looked around uneasily as if there might be an escape. "I'm not trying to look too impressive. I just want to appease Mama."

"You'd appease her more if you put on some makeup and maybe wore something a little less frumpy," Mary offered. "You have such a little body, and you've no idea how to show it off. What are you going to do with your hair?"

"I already did my hair," Edith answered. "Why, is it bad?"

"Just messy," Mary shrugged. "I could straighten it if you like."

Edith felt a bit flustered. "I wanted it to look natural. This is what it does."

Mary came up behind her, looking in the mirror thoughtfully at Edith as she'd just done herself. But then Mary's nose wrinkled briefly, and she shrugged in defeat. "Suit yourself."

"Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to tell you that Matthew's going to propose tonight so make sure you're in the grand hall at ten.

"He's doing it in front of all of Papa's friends?" Edith asked. "I should think I'd like something more private for such an important conversation."

"Not me, I want fireworks and fanfare," Mary said, dropping into Edith's reading chair with a heavy sigh, her head falling back and her elbows draped over the arms.

Edith turned to her sister. Mary Crawley was _striking_. Long and elegant like carved ivory, every gesture she had served to enhance the line of her neck or the curve or her slim frame. Her skin was absolutely flawless and in perfect contrast with her black hair and eyes. On the rare occasion that she actually smiled instead of smirking or quirking an eyebrow, she could light up a whole room.

And none of that mattered, because on the night of her engagement Mary was staring absently at the rug and trying, Edith could tell, not to cry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Edith offered, dropping to the stool at her vanity.

Mary pulled one hand to her head in a lethargic motion and sighed again. "Do you ever feel like your whole life was mapped out ahead of time? Like you've got no say in it?"

"Like destiny?"

"Like prison. Like complete lack of autonomy."

Edith folded her hands in her lap, trying to remember the last time she'd had a real conversation with Mary. And then she thought about certain choices that had been taken from her. "I don't know if I'm spiritual enough to believe in unchangeable destiny, but I know better than most we don't always have a say."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, nature didn't ask me whether or not I wanted children," Edith answered, struggling with the words. Mary closed her eyes, looking truly sorry. "I would have liked to choose for myself."

"Of course, Eed, I'm sorry. I can be abysmally obtuse sometimes. How is that whole thing, by the way?"

Edith shrugged. "Nothing's changed. They made me better, just at a higher cost than I would have liked. Anyway, we were talking about Matthew, not me."

"We were?" Mary asked sardonically. "Oh, yes."

"Don't you want to get engaged?"

"I don't know. I mean yes, of course, yes. I do," Mary took a deep breath as if the conversation were causing actual physical pain. "I do love him. I just wonder if Papa doesn't love him more, if all I'm meant to do is marry the man of Papa's dreams and continue being… whatever it is I am."

"You have to forget Papa and the family for now, and think really hard about Matthew, and you. If everyone else disappeared would you still want him?"

Mary thought for a while and nodded solemnly.

"Well there you go," Edith said. "It's terribly frightening, I'm sure, such a big thing as marriage. But you can't gain something, no matter how wonderful, without losing something too. Even good change is change, and no matter what you're bound to mourn what used to be before."

And then, like an anvil, Edith's words struck her. The terror, the anxiety, the gut-wrenching, bone-deep fear she felt sometimes with Anthony all made perfect sense suddenly. Of course she was afraid—her whole life had changed in a matter of days. But it was a wonderful thing.

Mary was looking at Edith as if her head had just spun all the way around. "That's the smartest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Don't mock."

"I'm not," Mary assured, sitting up and looking much more alert. "I mean it. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I was actually considering taking off in Papa's car and literally running away before ten. And now I don't have to. I feel loads better, honestly Eed."

"Don't look so surprised," Edith said dryly.

Mary reached out and took Edith's hand. "I know we won't ever be friends, but we don't have to be because we're sisters. And I'm really, really sorry you were sick. Whatever happens—happened—I'm glad you're better."

"Thank you darling. I'm glad you're feeling better about things. Tonight will be a good night."

Mary nodded, standing and gliding out of the room without another word as she was apt to do.

"Even if it's just this last night, it was for the best," Edith told her reflection, nodding firmly. She smiled as she recalled Anthony's voice at the stables reciting _Tis better to have love and lost_. A cliché, certainly, but so apropos.

* * *

Anthony had never enjoyed good luck when it came to parties. When he was eight he'd come down with acute appendicitis in the middle of his mother's annual New Year's bash and barely made it to hospital before going septic. When he was sixteen he was making a dubious attempt at courting a girl, under pressure from his father, when he accidentally stumbled both of them into the catering table and managed to set her tulle gown on fire with one of the propane warmers.

He met Maude at a drunken pub crawl for a friend's birthday when he was twenty –five and she was nineteen. He had been enduring a faculty mixer when she died, though he didn't find out until he got home to discover the refrigerator door open, the stove on, and Maude lying on top of a dozen broken eggs.

Anthony Strallan did not enjoy parties at all.

"How on earth can you look so morose in a room full of people and a drink in your hand?" Rosamund joked, sneaking up on Anthony where he stood with his back to the wall in the lounge. She hooked her hand through his arm without much permission and leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm certain at least one person in this room can capture your attention, no?"

Anthony laughed nervously, searching for a particular head of copper hair. "Have you ever known me to be the life of the party Rosamund?"

She shook her head and watched the milieu with him for a while, sipping at her martini. "We've known each other a long time, you and I," Ros said suddenly, to which Anthony nodded. "You were such a gangly thing when we met, but I always found you rather dashing. You weren't at all rakish like the others, who seemed intent on doing as all men must."

"I seem to remember you liking the rakish ones, Ros," Anthony said with a fond smile.

"Well you have me there. Only in hindsight do I realize what a catch you were. You still are, you know."

Anthony grew tense. Rosamund was an old friend, undoubtedly, and he knew she liked to say shocking things but was mostly harmless. Still, he didn't know what she was getting at and he certainly hoped to avoid any embarrassment.

"Relax, Anthony, I'm just suggesting you get your feet wet again, that's all. There are plenty of ladies who would snatch you up in a heartbeat. Don't be so hard on yourself all the time, hmm? You take life entirely too seriously and you always have."

With that Ros kissed him on the cheek quickly before waving at the newly arrived Garrisons and flitting over to them. Hugh Jarvis and his wife Helen were there as well, a dozen or so men from Robert and Anthony's Oxford days and their dates were in attendance, all looking rather worse for wear from how Anthony remembered them. A handful of people Ros invited from London had come, and a number of the younger generation who, presumably, were with Mary and Sybil.

Anthony felt not the least bit interested in any of it, but tried to look affable enough while still keeping his distance. The servers kept passing, offering plates of things and refills on drinks, and all the while Anthony felt a bit disoriented. Until, that is, Edith came into the room.

He felt her before he saw her, though he dismissed the notion immediately. He turned to catch her enter with Sybil, surveying the room and nodding at a few greetings before her bright brown eyes finally landed on him. Her cheeks flushed a sumptuous rose, and Anthony couldn't dismiss the smile she gave him so easily.

Edith took a few steps toward him as Sybil moved for Tom, but a young man with thick hair and a tan said, "Eeds! Princess!" Anthony could do little but watch as the man hugged her tightly and dragged Edith off to a nearby sofa.

Anthony Strallan did not only _not_ enjoy parties, he officially hated them.

Hours later, though it felt like days, Anthony found himself leaning against the balustrade of the stairs, watching everyone talking and eating and drinking. He couldn't make himself pretend to be nicer, so he chose to spare everyone and hide in the dark second story corridor.

Much as Anthony would have liked to blame his mood on his antisocial tendencies, the truth was much more self-indulgent. Mostly, he just missed Edith.

Edith had been fulfilling her obligations as a member of the Crawley family, greeting guests and old friends and looking stunning the whole while. He'd admired her simple outfit and natural beauty all evening, glad she didn't feel the need to look fake and plastic like the other women.

So Anthony watched, falling deeper every moment, and keeping time in terms of how much he had left. Thirteen hours until his train, then twelve, and all this time he was wasting without Edith to talk to.

Anthony dropped his face into his hands, feeling tired and helpless and annoyed with himself. He was too bloody old to be moping over something he knew he couldn't have. "Shit, damn, bloody, fool bugger," he grumbled to himself.

"I hope you're not referring to yourself, Dr. Strallan," came Edith's voice, and relief washed over him in waves. He looked up in time to see her coming off the last step and into the shadow where he lurked.

"I've two degrees and a doctorate, a steady career and a house and I'm nearly fifty years old, and I still run and hide at parties," he groaned, happily accepting Edith as she moved to stand between his legs.

"What did I say before? You're too honest to be good at pretending, and no one in there save a select few are worthy of the effort anyway. I've just spent the evening rebuffing the awful Larry Gray, who thinks I'm pitiful, awkward, and dull and still tries to get in my bed. Ugh," she complained, folding herself into Anthony's chest.

"I'm sorry sweet. You looked perfectly lovely and at ease, for what it's worth."

"Practice," she grumbled, sighing happily as Anthony ran his hands over her back.

Looking down, he noticed something was different. "Have you changed?"

"Only my shoes. Heels don't really work for what I had in mind."

"Oh?" he asked, hooking a finger under her chin and pulling her face toward his. "What did you have in mind?"

Edith kissed him—the long, slow kiss of two people who knew each other thoroughly—and smiled. "Everyone's sufficiently boozed up and soon they'll be distracted by Mary's engagement. I think we can sneak away and not be missed."

Edith led Anthony away from the rest of the party, downstairs through the kitchen, and out a back door. They seemed to be on a meandering route, but determined as she was he just followed her in silence.

When they were out of view of the grand house, windows alit on the ground level and casting gold squares across the damp lawn, Edith reached out and took his hand. Anthony ignored the tremble it caused, unsure whether it was in his fingers or hers.

When they took to an age-worn stone path that turned steeply downhill, Anthony finally said, "Where is it we're going, exactly?"

"You don't like being surprised?"

"I suppose I don't."

"You'll like this one," Edith assured, pulling him left behind a bank of trees.

There was a small pond, not even large enough to row around, with a plankwood dock stretching towards its middle. More remarkable than the hidden trove, lit by the twilight sky and low-hung moon, was the half-dozen pillar candles lit and grouped in threes on either corner, the folded flannel blanket, and the large thermos near the end.

Anthony turned to Edith, mouth all agape despite himself. "Well this is all quite picturesque," he said coolly.

"I thought it better than the great party inside. If I was wrong," Edith trailed off with a little smile, knowing full well she'd hit the mark.

Anthony spread the blanket, Edith poured the hot cocoa, they sat quietly while they sipped and watched night bugs skip over the glassy surface of the pond as they leant against one another. Anthony couldn't help but indulge in these little moments, even knowing they would make his return to London and regular life that much more painful.

"Oh, I nearly forgot the last touch," Edith said suddenly, breaking from the arm Anthony had around her shoulders to fish in the pocket of her cardigan. She soon produced her iPod and turned on the speaker, allowing it to play soft little nocturnes and concertos.

Anthony lay back on the blanket, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, one arm crooked back to cushion his head while the other was open, an invitation for Edith, which she immediately accepted.

Bundled up against the late-summer evening, it wasn't exactly the most physically intimate moment they had shared. But there was something about his hand roaming her right side while her left was pressed against him, about feeling each other's breathing and listening to Biret and Chopin and Purcel while Nature went about its business around them. It felt more intimate than anything they had done their whole three days together.

Perhaps that alone is what caused Anthony to ask, "What would you have done, if you could have more say in things, in your life?"

Edith took a deep sigh. "I don't know that I'd change so very much. Despite my awkwardness and my complete inability to understand my family, I like who I am."

Anthony turned and kissed her head in acknowledgment that he too liked who Edith was. Immensely.

"I would, if I could," she began again, "Change that I can't bear children."

"Poor darling," Anthony muttered, kissing her again.

"I would have had as many as I could. I would have liked daughters, I think, but maybe because that's all I know, having only sisters."

"A whole line of little strawberry blonde girls, following after their Mama."

"Something like that. I would have given them books for their birthdays, and I would have taken them to Town for the theater, letting them get all dressed up, and while we were in Town we'd order room service and they'd be allowed dessert first.

"And I would have told them how special and important they were, and to value their little minds over how others perceive them. The poor darlings, they probably would be bookish little outcasts just like me, but I would have treasured them.

"I always thought that I'd like a husband who would dote on them and have secrets with them I didn't get to know about. Something special, you know, and we'd go to bed each night happy, and wake up each morning to our little ones arguing and climbing into our bed making demands for waffles."

To that Edith let out a sad huff of laughter. He assumed she was imagining a whole brood in long pajamas with messes of curly hair climbing over the two of them on a cold morning. At least, Anthony imagined himself in the painted image of domestic bliss she had described. He couldn't help it, and something in him broke all over again, not just for his own long-lost child, who was still very much with him, but for Edith's loss as well.

"Oh, Anthony," Edith whispered. He couldn't understand her tutting or her tone until she reached up and wiped tears from his face.

"You can still do that," Anthony said. "All of it. Adoption and what not."

"I know," Edith said heavily, nuzzling against his neck. "But it's not the same. I wanted that moment, newborn set in my hands with you looming over my shoulder, both a mess of tears and laughter, of a swollen belly and feeling the baby move, of that first realization that I was pregnant at all, at being able to tell the family, the conception. All of it."

Anthony was tearing up again, and he couldn't remember the last time he had cried. Edith's honesty, all that she had lost, and at only twenty-five, made his heart ache. He wondered briefly if she knew she said, 'you looming over my shoulder,' but let it go. For someone so close to youth, to be so aware of how much had been lost, well it was almost too much.

The words pushed against him, screaming in his head and fighting on his tongue to be released. _I love you_. But it was a selfish thought, he knew, to tell her now, while she was vulnerable and sad, not to mention presumptuous. The last thing Edith needed was some middle-aged man with his own miserable past latching onto her like she was the last good thing he'd ever touch.

And she was, he was most certain, the last great moment in his life, the last flicker of something bright and good before he sank into the dim, fading future.

"I'm sorry," Edith said, "I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"Not a thing is ruined, Sweetheart. I'm glad you told me."

"I'd tell you anything," she said quickly, and when Anthony glanced down she was hiding her blushing face in his shoulder.

Another few moments passed, and the music playing finally registered with him.

"Is this your music?" Anthony asked.

Edith lifted her face, quirking one eyebrow at him. "Of course. It's my iPod. Why do you ask?"

"This is Orfeo ed Euridice, _Che Faro Senza Euridice_."

"Yes," she said slowly, as though he were being slow. "Agnes Baltsa singing. Orfeo is often sung by a woman."

"Because Castrati ceased to exist before modern recording."

"Precisely," Edith said. "Don't question my taste in music again or I'll do very real physical harm," she warned with a laugh, all the while wrapping an arm over his ribs and squeezing him closer.

"My mistake. I only, well it's not the most popular of operas. It happens to be my favorite."

"Mine as well. There's so much loss, so much mourning, but it has a happy ending. I'm not often a crier, but every time Orfeo gives in because he can't bear another moment without seeing his love, and then realizes what he's done, I bawl like a child."

"What shall I do without Euridice? I have lost my Euridice," Anthony quoted, nodding. "I do too, really. But then Amore comes and saves everyone."

"Because true love always wins out in the end," Edith finished.

"A hopeful, if not somewhat misguided message," Anthony said, earning a pinch from Edith.

"It's lovely, and perfectly true," she scolded, leaning up and over him. Her weight rested on him, her breasts pressing into his chest, her face close and eyes bright. Oh, how Anthony wanted to believe her, in that moment of all moments.

"My mistake."

"Kiss me," she said, as if exacting punishment. And so, like any man who wronged a woman, he accepted his punishment and did as she asked.

Making love in the open, where anyone could see them, and where several field mice and night-birds most definitely did see them, turned out to be a much better idea than Anthony originally anticipated.

They moved slowly, savoring and seeing each other, taking time to commit it all to memory. There was something primal about joining their bodies surrounded by the night, as if they had been doing it since the beginning of the earth itself, as if time and Mother Nature had laid down for them for the moment. Anthony knew he wouldn't recover from it, not ever.

They lay together for a while on a bed of their clothing and under the flannel, but when Edith began to shiver, Anthony insisted they get dressed and move to his room. They didn't even bother climbing the stairs separately, given that the few remaining guests were either inebriated beyond comprehension or passed out on various sofas.

Anthony stopped counting the time he had left, choosing instead to focus on Edith. For a long time they just talked as if the world was going to end at sunup and they'd never have another chance. They talked about their childhoods and Oxford and books and hurts and fears. They talked like they'd die if they didn't. And when they finally made love again, neither of them wondered why it felt so sad.

* * *

Edith was forced to acknowledge that leaving Anthony's warm bed before sunup that morning was easily the most difficult thing she'd ever done of her own will. It was there, constantly, on the tip of her tongue—_please take me with you, please don't go, please say we can be together_. She was so enraptured with him she almost felt bad for the poor man who had become the object of her sad, lonely affection.

There was more at play, though, and Edith was old enough and wise enough and grounded enough to recognize it. She wasn't just some school girl with a crush, she had made the mistake of connecting with this shy and decent man at the soul level, and there was no undoing that. Still, it was easier to think she was a fool than to think she was about to lose her soul mate.

Anthony didn't wake as she slipped out of his arms and gathered her things. She took a moment to etch everything about this into her memory—the rise and fall of his chest, his thin, soft lips slightly parted and the slight crease in his brow as he doubtless graded papers or analyzed Spenser in his sleep.

Edith laughed at the thought, a sound that escaped from her in a gloomy, silent huff.

Three days ago she had been so certain she was incapable of feeling such things. It may as well have been a whole lifetime ago, another world altogether, where she was alone and terrified and constantly hurting. Anthony had been the first true light in her world, and it pained her to admit it, thinking herself a modern and independent woman. Surely she could stand on her own talents and skills, brave the world alone. She didn't need anyone else to validate or bring purpose to her life. But he had, and she did, and there was little room for rationalization there.

Back in her childhood room, Edith felt quite foreign to herself, as if she'd left her life and come back to find it too small anymore. She moved about her morning routine, knowing she would never get back to sleep. Everything was duller, sadder. She admonished herself, shaking her head, but it didn't help.

The morning fog bleached the color from the landscape, seeping away the greens of summer and leaving it white and gray, as lifeless and still and vague as she felt. Even Tennyson's muscles beneath her as she rode to her cottage seemed separate and distant, a memory from another life that seemed just barely familiar.

"Oh, stop moping," she told herself, patting her horse's neck and trying to sink back into her former self.

Bringing Anthony to her secret place was a mistake, Edith realized as soon as she dismounted. She could no longer see her little fortress, so thoroughly hers in every way. Now the ghost of Anthony lingered, smiling crookedly at her as if she were some sort of beguiling imp, while she artlessly fumbled through conversations and picked up the crumbs of information he scattered for her.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door, breathing in the familiar must and paint and turpentine smells of her most secret self. If Edith was Downton, her family knew only the winding drive and brick façade. Anthony was the first who discovered the intimate details of her cottage, of her truest self.

Edith couldn't take another step inside, instead letting her body slump against the door frame and her head thump against it painfully. She could easily imagine a sad future like Mrs. Muir and her Captain, a lifelong love affair with the ghost of a man who had once stood near that window and flipped through her paintings with care and interest.

Tennyson's impatient snort drew Edith away, and she shut the door, knowing the cottage would never be a solace like it had been in the past. Her peace now lay with the man who was most likely packing his things this very minute.

Edith took a sketch pad and some graphite from Tennyson's saddlebag and sat on the damp, cold earth that sloped toward the creek. She tried to draw the full trees shivering in the changing weather, roots warmed by ferns and wildflowers and moss. Instead her hand betrayed her, capturing a bright, shrewd pair of eyes, boyish wispy hair brushing a high brow, and a nervous, wry smile that managed to be confident and uncertain all at one.

And then Edith wept.

It was the kind of crying that seized up in her ribs and crushed her lungs and broke out in choked, pitiful gasps. She didn't even cry when the doctors removed an ovary and told her the rest was so badly damaged she would never have children. She didn't cry when she overheard her grandmother, a week into her recovery, bemoaning the fact that Edith was without purpose if she couldn't bear children. She didn't cry when Mary found Matthew or Sybil and Tom announced their engagement, or when her parents looked at her with a sort of wary concern every day, as if she were an old mine that was unpredictable, outdated, and apt to explode at any minute.

It seemed fitting to Edith that the fog never burned off that morning, but lingered and cowered, clinging to the ankles of the trees. She was halfway back to the house from the stables when the skies opened. The weather, at least, had the courtesy and respect to accommodate her mood.

"Edith." Cora Crawley's calm but urgent voice stopped Edith as she burst through the terrace doors, soaked through and puddling on the floor.

"Mama, what are you doing up so early?" Edith asked, catching her breath and glancing at the hall clock. It was just past eight.

"Anthony's catching the early train. Your father and I wanted to see him off. Since you're up won't you please go change into some dry clothes and meet us for breakfast. I don't want him to think he's been forgotten after the party."

"I don't think I can," Edith said. She meant it too. Looking him in the eye and saying goodbye as he left her might have been physically impossible.

_Cora pursed her lips and dropped her chin, a look Edith knew well. It meant, Don't be ridiculous, Edith_, and usually followed after Edith tried to open up to her mother about something important to her. "Be back down in ten minutes, please. And dress in something warm. It seems the countryside just remembered it's nearly September in England."

Dark jeans, a long grey shirt, a thick cream cardigan that could have been a blanket, her green Hunters, Edith felt sufficiently warm, and admittedly shielded behind her most conservative and practical clothing.

Anthony didn't join them at the breakfast table, a fact which left Edith as disappointed as she was relieved. If she was going to bid him farewell, she'd need all of her practiced stoicism and she didn't think she could maintain that for a whole meal.

"Edith, are your roommates missing you while you spend the summer here?" Rosamund asked, who looked suspiciously perky for the early hour and the amount of drink she'd enjoyed the night before.

"No. I live with them because I can't afford anything else, not because they can't. They're dears, but I think they enjoy the space when I'm away."

"You know," Rosamund said to Cora as though Edith's reply had sparked the thought, "Anthony was telling me last night about his townhome in London. It sounds like it could use a woman's touch, but I should think it would be more than adequate."

Edith scoffed accidentally and hid the noise by coughing and sipping at her tea. Rosamund was always on the hunt for her next husband and had been making bold statements all weekend about Anthony's eligibility. Edith would have been delighted with her privileged information, with the knowledge that she and not her Aunt Ros knew the face he made when he came or the way his arm felt wrapped around one's naked, sleeping frame, or the torch he carried for a child he lost years ago.

She _would_ have been delighted if it didn't hurt so damn much.

"Anthony's been so long without someone in his life, I think it would take someone quite special to nab him," Cora said, looking out the windows and frowning at the worsening storm.

"No one should be alone like that," Ros said, smiling to herself like the spider admiring its web before the catch. She and Cora made pointed eye contact, and Edith wondered if this whole weekend hadn't been a ruse to lead Anthony into Rosamund Peniwick's well-placed bear traps.

_Poor Anthony_, Edith thought, understanding why he'd fled into the garden that night, _and poor Rosamund_, for having no clue that Anthony was seriously affronted by nearly everything about the woman.

"You look awfully pale and morose this morning," Robert observed from behind his paper, eyeing Edith with that tempered concern he reserved especially for her. Ever since the surprise surgery in May he had looked at her with a sort of paternal conflict, worried with her fragility while also giving her that "buck-up" encouragement.

"I'm fine. It's probably," she began, but her voice betrayed her and stuttered in her chest. "It's probably the weather."

"Ghastly day for travel," Robert agreed, happily accepting her limp excuse.

"Oh, I don't know," Cora breathed casually, not looking up from the magazine she was perusing.

All too soon it was nine, and Anthony's bag was at the door waiting for the cab, the few roused Crawleys gathered in a line to bid him farewell in a last-ditch effort to appeal to the family's former social grandeur. When Anthony trotted down the stairs, looking far too eager to leave for Edith's liking, her heart withered a bit and fell like a leaf from a branch to the bottom of her stomach.

"Anthony, thank you so much for finally coming to see us. It was too long in the making, and you must come more often," Cora said in that maternal admonishing tone she had. She kissed his cheek, and Edith wondered if her mother noticed the feel of his prominent cheekbones the way Edith did.

"Cora, you're an absolute peach," Anthony smiled. "Thank you for feeding and housing me. Sorry I'm not terribly exciting company."

"Oh, nonsense," Ros interjected, stealing her own polite peck. "You've been quite entertaining indeed. And I dare say we'll all be seeing much more of each other."

Anthony blushed, and Edith cringed inwardly. Or she thought it was inward. Her father elbowed her before stepping forward to take Anthony's hand firmly. "Old chap, it's been very pleasant. I know you'll refuse, but do come see us again soon. Better for your countenance, I think, this country air. You seem far more robust after a few days with us."

It was Edith's turn to blush, and she noticed her aunt stifling a laugh. If Ros thought she could take credit for Anthony's change in mood she was sorely mistaken. Anthony dismissed the comment with a nervous laugh and some nearly incoherent thanks.

And then he turned to Edith. At first Anthony looked just over her left shoulder, unwilling to make eye contact as he muttered a banal goodbye.

"It's been lovely," Edith said, accidentally infusing her words with too much truth. His bright blue eyes flicked to hers, and Edith felt a sharp pain somewhere where her heart used to be.

"Lovely indeed," he muttered, numbly taking her hand, shaking it, and releasing it all too quickly. Turning back to the others, he said, "I really must be off before the train is washed away in this rain."

Edith watched as Anthony ducked his head against the downpour and ran for the cab. She watched as he disappeared into the back and shut the door behind him. Through the back window she saw him run a hand through his hair and settle back against the seat. The brake lights flashed as the car was put in gear, and the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires seemed sharp and severe.

In that car was the best thing she'd ever known. And surely, _surely_, it couldn't all be in her head. They hadn't had some sordid tryst, as she had originally believed they were intending. Oh lord, she thought, taking a shuttering breath, realizing they'd been falling in love this whole time. Or she had. Even if it were unrequited she had to tell him, didn't she?

Edith couldn't bear the thought of simply lying back and taking another blow in life. She couldn't control her body, or her family, or practically anything, but she could control who she let in, which risks to take. She didn't mean to give her heart away, but she had completely.

And her heart was currently making his way down the drive and out of her life.

"No," she said, her voice sounding strange to herself.

"Edith?" Robert asked, confused.

"No," she repeated firmly, not hazarding a glance to her family before she took after him. "Anthony!" she cried, sprinting across the gravel to the lawn where it cut into the drive, trying desperately to catch him. "Anthony! Wait!" Her voice barely made a dent in the heavy sheets of rain falling between them, and the closer that damned black cab got to the gate, the more true fear stoked her adrenaline.

"Anthony, stop!" she tried. She nearly slipped on the sodden grass as she tried to make up the distance between them. She couldn't she knew, but she had to try. Her life was rather hanging in the balance, after all.

Finally, finally, the red lights of the cab glowed as it came to an abrupt stop. Her lungs seemed to start working again when the tall, broad figure emerged from the back, looking somewhat like a man who had just been pardoned.

Edith's canter didn't slow. Not even when she reached Anthony where he stood, frozen in disbelief, by the open car door. She plowed into him at full speed, leaping into his arms is if she could keep him so long as she was close enough against him.

Anthony caught her, of course, his great arms snatching her to him as her arms and legs wrapped around him. Their faces met almost painfully, cheek pressed against cheek as she clutched to his neck and he buried her face against her shoulder.

"Oh god, I love you so much it hurts," Anthony heaved, releasing his hold on her legs to reach up and push Edith's hair away where the rain had plastered it to her face. His hands were warm, despite the weather and the fact he was now soaked through too. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to keep you, to hold you back, but I don't know how to let you go."

He was fairly shouting over the sound of the rain, and Edith saw her breath when she heaved a laugh. "I love you too. I was so afraid you'd think I was silly. I love you so much. Please don't ever, ever let me go."

"Never," he promised, "Edie, nev—" but he didn't finish because their lips had met in a wet, crushing kiss, as urgent and passionate as Edith's run had been.

After several moments the cabbie finally snapped an "Oy!" at the pair, and Anthony managed to get them both into the backseat without letting his hold loosen.

In the silence of the car, Edith straddling Anthony's lap, still trying to manage her labored breathing, they both grinned. "What next?" Edith asked, kissing him again and stroking his jaw with her thumbs where her hands cradled his head.

"The world," Anthony shrugged. "It's yours. You name it, we'll do it."

Edith knew her answer, leaning close to whisper it in his ear. He looked not remotely alarmed, which surprised her. "Won't be available on a Sunday, darling. Care to accompany me to my London flat until we can get an appointment?"

Edith nodded her approval, and even though she had known inherently he wouldn't reject her proposal, she couldn't help but feel relieved.

Back at the open doors of the entry to the Abbey, Robert stood stone still, eyes wide, as he watched his middle daughter drive away with Anthony Strallan. Turning to Cora, he expected a similar reaction, but she and Rosamund were watching with as much interest as one watches the end of a film they've already seen.

"I can't believe he got all the way down the drive before she made up her mind," Cora said, folding her arms.

Rosamund took a fiver out of her pocket and shoved it into Cora's waiting hand, never taking her eyes off the now empty lawn. "How'd you know she'd be the one and not Anthony?"

"He's far too shy to make the first move. If you hadn't driven him into the gardens they never would have spoken to each other. And he's far too reticent to think she'd go with him, so I knew she'd have to be the one."

"What in bloody hell just happened?" Robert boomed suddenly, catching both women's attention. He put particular, gravelly emphasis on each word.

"Edith and Anthony," Ros shrugged as if her brother was dense as the black clouds overhead. "Why else do you think Cora pushed for this weekend?"

"It was a setup?" Robert bellowed, feeling quite betrayed by all the women in his life suddenly.

"They're perfect for each other. And Edith needed to remember that she was still deserving of a life," Cora said.

"What? How? When, when did you decide all this?" Robert stammered, feeling he was losing the battle.

His wife, all blue innocent eyes, dropped her head to one side. "I knew they'd be right for each other when I found Edith rereading Crime and Punishment for fun a few months ago. I knew they'd finally figured it out when I caught Anthony in Edith's shower yesterday morning."

"You did what?!"

"Cora, you'll give him a heart attack," Rosamund said ruefully, quite enjoying the weekend's mischief. The redhead hooked her arm through Robert's, leading them back to the dining room. "I propose a new bet," she said, leaning over Robert to address Cora directly.

"Oh?"

"Double or nothing, they're married within the week."

Cora, ignoring her husband's whimper, said, "I'll take that bet. I'm assuming they won't leave his bed for at least that long."

"We, we have to, to do something," Robert said, trying to reestablish some semblance of reason in his house.

"Oh, Darling," Cora sighed. "Edith's finally happy. The only thing we're going to do is send her things to Anthony's and wish them luck." Then, with the satisfied smile of a mother who has done her duty she added, "Though I very much doubt they'll need it."

* * *

Nowadays Anthony wakes first. He loves the mornings, his Edith sighing in her sleep and murmuring little nonsensical things as he kisses her before rising. The house they found in the country is very much like her cottage back in Yorkshire. It's more modest than Locksley, but lovely all the same. Still, it's bloody glacial in the mornings, though Anthony doesn't mind.

In the mornings Anthony turns the heater on in the bathroom so Edith's feet won't freeze on the stone floor, and then he goes downstairs to start the tea, and the best part of his day is climbing back into their warm bed with two mugs and watching Edith wake.

It took them no time to adjust to living as one. They were married nine days after leaving Downton, and now Anthony has gotten in the habit of putting his dirty clothes in a hamper, and Edith has grown used to stacks of books and papers in the living room. Six months later, Anthony can't remember life before her. He remembers the emptiness, the pointlessness, but it isn't an acute memory, more a vague and hazy recollection of another time.

Edith stirs and sits up, a struggle with her belly. The protrusion still surprises him sometimes, especially in the mornings after he's had dreams of isolation. He reaches for it as soon as Edith takes the other mug from his hand.

"Good morning, Wife. And good morning to you, Little One," he says, kissing Edith's temple and then her belly.

It was October when Anthony came home from work to find Edith on the front stoop of the house in London, grocery bags forgotten beside her. She had been white as a ghost, and Anthony's stomach dropped to his knees the moment he saw her.

"What's wrong?" he had asked, sitting beside her and running his nose over her icy cheek. He realized then she must have been out there for hours. "Please tell me."

Edith's small hands were folded over her mouth, her elbows on her knees as she stared off into the distance. When Anthony spoke she just shook her head.

"Edith, Sweetheart. I'm your husband, you can tell me anything." Another five minutes passed and he said, "Love, we can either talk out here together, or go inside together, or wait here in silence on display for the neighbors until we thaw sometime in April."

Finally, she had straightened, looking at him as if she had just noticed his presence. "I, um, I know how you worry," she began, having to clear her throat before she could continue. "I didn't know, and I wanted to know before I talked to you."

Anthony's heart had stopped. His Edith had her health problems—nothing insurmountable but enough to make him fuss over her. The way she had looked so shaken, he immediately assumed the worst.

"Wanted to know what, Dearest?" he had asked, trying to sound steady and strong for his young, clearly frightened wife.

"Dr. Tapsell, my old doctor, he said without a doubt—his _exact_ words—that it wouldn't happen, that it couldn't. He said everything was damaged, he talked about scar tissue and, and he told me over and over there wasn't any hope."

"Sweetheart?" Anthony had asked, thoroughly confused.

"But when I moved here with you I switched doctors, and I was feeling strange, and I didn't want to think… but I couldn't help… so I went, I went to Dr. Clarkson this morning, and he did the usual tests and ordered my records."

"I'm afraid I'm not following," Anthony said. And then Edith had turned to him with a watery, hysterical laugh and gave him the best and most terrifying news of his life.

"We're going to have a baby. Dr. Clarkson says I'm already ten weeks gone. He thinks it must have been that first weekend, Anthony."

And as she rambled on Anthony tried to follow her but he just kept hearing _We're going to have a baby_ in his mind. He was going to be a father, and it was Edith's child, the one she'd always wanted.

"Please say something. I feel almost, well, guilty. I kept saying I couldn't get pregnant so we didn't use anything, and I know it's not exactly planned. I swear I didn't mean to," she was saying, so Anthony had stopped her with a kiss, wet and warm and passionate. He was so happy he could hardly contain himself. And then something had occurred to him.

"But why are you sitting on the stoop?"

Edith had looked sheepish. "Dr. Clarkson called just as I was getting home. I dropped the groceries, and then I guess I just got… stuck. He said there wasn't really much to worry about, that I should come in next week to talk about prenatal vitamins and have an ultrasound. He also said Tapsell should be hanged, but that's not really here nor—"

But then Anthony was kissing her again and carrying her into their house, the grocery bags abandoned altogether.

They had bought a home more suited to family as their Christmas gifts to each other, and now that it was February it feels as if they've been in it for years.

"Are you ready for today?" Edith asks, resting a hand on his shoulders as he's bent over their child. "Hopefully the snow won't be too much for anyone."

"It's going to be a lovely day," he says, breathing in the smell of Edith that he associates with home—all laundry and cotton and beeswax candles and lavender soap. "I think Robert may have finally forgiven me," he adds with a laugh.

"Papa was just mad he was the last to find out, because he's always the last to find out about everything. He couldn't pout forever. It's been six months, I think you're in the clear."

"I was thinking, though," Anthony says, sitting up. "If some bloke ever comes and takes my daughter away after one weekend, then calls two months later to say she's suspiciously two months pregnant, I'll kill him."

To this Edith laughs, a bubbling happy sound that Anthony has long-since vowed to hear every single day. "Oh Darling, we just won't have any house guests starting in, say, eighteen years. Alright?"

Anthony agrees and they talk a while longer before Edith goes to shower. Today they are having the family over for dinner, no special occasion, just the first weekend since the holidays everyone has been free at the same time. Mary and Cora will have wedding magazines, Edith will show off the nursery they've started to put together, the men will play cards or watch television, and Robert will look at Anthony with a sort of wariness Anthony now understands and can't blame him for.

"Love, will you hand me a towel?" Edith calls from their bathroom.

Anthony moves to the linen closet where a perfectly symmetrical stack of lush gray towels is stored. Anthony loves the way his wife folds towels, the way she takes such care to fold them in thirds long-ways, and then in thirds again, making sure they're even and flat and all facing the same way.

He also loves the way she lotions her pregnant belly and talks to their daughter while she's doing it. He loves the way their limbs always seem to find each other in sleep, and the paintings she has let him hang on their walls, selected from her cottage at Downton. He loves that they never run out of things to say to each other, and that their need to be physically close has only gotten stronger.

Anthony loves everything about his life, and the fact that he owes every bit of it to Edith. He doesn't know yet if they'll have more children, though Dr. Clarkson doesn't see why they shouldn't be able to with a little timing and maybe some help. They haven't decided on a name for their daughter yet, though Edith put her foot down against Euridice.

But he knows he will never again be alone, and that he'll always keep Edith happy and safe, and that he loves her more than opera and words and oxygen and light.

All that in mind, Anthony decides they have all morning before the Crawleys arrive, and he thinks back to that first morning they had together. Edith isn't at all surprised when he steps into the shower with her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nibbling her neck.

"Why, Dr. Strallan," Edith purrs, immediately leaning into him, reaching behind her to run a hand through his hair while the other deftly snakes between them, touching him in a way that manages to be familiar and still shy at the same time.

"Are you up for this?" Anthony asks, knowing some mornings are better than others for his lovely, swollen wife.

"You certainly are," she giggles, pressing against him.

"For you, my Darling, always," he responds, and he knows them to be among the truest words he will ever speak.

* * *

That's all...

Oh my goodness. I'm am absolutely overwhelmed by your lovely reviews, PMs, favorites and follows. I was so, so nervous about posting this story, but as I said-it was a bit of therapy. I debated for a while about giving them a more tempered ending, but decided the beauty of fiction (and fanfiction especially) is unquestionable happy endings.

I really can't express how wonderful you've all been. THANK YOU. And also, there's no Gregson in this story because rather than having him be the villain I choose to make him completely non-existent. I wish JF would consider the same. :)

Annnnnnnd... 12k+ words for this 'chapter.' Sorry about that. :)

All my love,  
Eleanor


End file.
